Beauty is Beast-Prequel
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: During one stormy night, a mistake was made. A new mother risks the future of her child by sending away a woman in desperate need of help. Upon this revelation a curse is placed on her family, which comes into fruition after ten turned years. The only hope for the young man is true love. What beauty can love a hideous beast like he, and what secrets does this beauty hide?
1. Prologue

_.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Prologue_

 _A Tale as old as Time._

 _.~._

* * *

 _.~._

 _Fell into despair_

 _Until the last petal fell_

 _Mark by these words_

 _Love that cannot prevail_

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _.~._

* * *

 **Wiltshire, England**

 **June 15** **th** **, 1729**

A storm had been raging on that fateful night. Rain pelted in diagonal strokes, lightening lit up the night sky, villagers plundered with the reckless hysteria of trepidation. The grass was soaked from the Angel's tears, and not one single inch of the earth, it seemed, did not receive the thunderous blow of the destructive touch of liquid electricity. The town's folk lied awake through the resounding battle of the skies, having found no comfort in sleeping at all. Hypnos was not kind that night. Through the storm, unbeknownst to all, a solidary figure had emerged. And, out of all the chaos, that one drifter remained calm.

She was an old woman with ancient skin and wrinkles of trial and error. Her hair was peppered grey with bone-white streaks; even her clothing was in remarkably bad condition. Teeth as yellow as a decaying daisy, and long finger nails that could scratch with one grazing touch. She was condemned to walk the earth beneath a tattered, old cloak with no real welcome. Yet, despite all the claim of forgetfulness, she carried on.

Whilst she pushed through the galling winds, a cold chill began to settle in the core of her bones. Her village had welcome the same forceful winds ages ago. It had been pillaged until nothing remained. Women were raped, children and young girls sold as trophies of a victory that would never last. Memories of the occasion still lingered fresh inside her mind. It had been a peaceful time until _they_ came, The Cursed Ones. She needed refuge, but none came. The woman was hideously disfigured, and it took a kind heart to provide shelter to a beastly deity like her. Yet, though convinced of the human race's inability to see past the ugly, she treaded on until her legs carried her to a Manor door. Towering over her like giant trees, the doors of the beautiful home accommodated more than she could ever hope. Light flickered beyond the windows, and for first time in years, she felt an incredible surge of hope and an inkling of rejuvenation.

This is where her guide has lead her and this is where she would stay.

Someone desperately needed her help, and if things went accordingly, she would be able to provide such a service. If only they would graciously open up their doors and allow her passage. Then, she could extend her gratitude one last time. An imminent end was near, and feared it soon would be her last breath.

Her hands clenched her breast, and she let out a resounding sigh.

Deep in the chasm of her mind and heart, she knew it was fruitless. To welcome the likes of her was an outrageous claim. The weather, as if being the bearer of bad news, advised against it, but she carried on with her plans. With a tentative hand, she wrapped her long, boney fingers around the door handle and gave it good three raps. Her presence was acknowledged instantaneously.

An old gentlemen answered the door. His white hair was combed back and he wore the attire of a butler. Pushing up his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, he greeted her.

"Good evening," he bid her. "May I ask what a… _woman_ of your status is roaming about the dark streets of Wiltshire?"

She remained silent for a moment before speaking. "I came for sanctuary."

"You think that this estate can offer you such a thing?" asked the butler-man. "I think highly unlikely. This is a residential dwelling and the Lord and lady do not offer such a thing to strangers. You ought to try the church down the street. I am certain they would be able to offer the accommodations you ask for."

The old woman shook her head slowly, careful to keep her face hidden underneath her cloak. "I do not seek sanctuary from a church. If I wanted that, I would have gone there first, hmm?"

"Then," the man treaded with measured ease," what exactly do you want?"

"I want what we all seek."

Obviously, her choice of words was doing little to persuade the man to let her in. The moment chose itself. A young woman came bustling down the hall, her night gown caressing her floor as it licked her bare feet. She looked busy and anxious about something the woman could not place. For someone so young, she would have easily guessed that it had something to do with a newborn child. Stopping just several feet away, she regarded their guest with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. Distrust lit up like lightening within her azure eyes.

"Gaëtan, who is this woman?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper in the moonlit sky.

"M'lady," he spoke to her warningly. "What on earth are you doing out of your chambers. You ought to be nursing your son."

"He is asleep," she stated rather sharply. "I finished feeding him and noticed a terrible draft coming from the loft and had to make sure the wards were up. They are up, are they not?"

"Of course, M'lady."

She gave him a pleasant smile before turning back to the old woman. "Now, forgive my rudeness. We do not usually receive guests so late at night. May I ask what business do you have with us?"

"I came for sanctuary," the old woman murmured softly. "I hear that this refuge allows all who seek passage entrance. Am I not welcomed into your home?"

"Who are you?" she narrowed her eyes instantly, her voice sharp as a knife. "For such insolence so late at night! Why, I should report you to the authorities!"

"What good will come if you do that?" she giggled atrociously. The old woman stepped forward until her nose barely grazed the welcoming hall of her Lady's beloved home. She could feel the warmth radiating from within the large estate, feel the warmth and happiness of the arrival of her child. In the distance, he slept peacefully in his bassinet. A whirl of magic surrounded him. "Very interesting," she murmured to herself. "To ward up the Grand Hall and your child's crib. Why, it was as if you were warned beforehand of my arrival."

"What is interesting?" the Lady asked. "I demand you to leave my home this instant! You have caused nothing but trouble since you have arrived and- "

She was stumped into dead silence. For the old woman had removed the hood of her cloak and revealed what lied underneath.

The woman had been burned to the point of unrecognition; taunt, marbled skin stretched across her cranium, her eyes appeared to sink deep within the sockets, and there was no skin to produce any inkling of a smile or frown. Her cheeks had been hollowed out, her neck elongated with a collarbone that protruded severely underneath the strain of her own skin. There were several grotesque markings that decorated her once youthful skin; dark, ugly remnants of what she had lived through, and more. The Lady held her breath, astonished by the ugliness that the woman had been able to keep hidden. Disgusted, mortified, and fearful for her family, she took a step back but was immediately captured by the woman's grip. She could not move and remained helpless to her disgusting face.

"What, monstrous beast!" she hissed, trying desperately to remove herself from the woman's impenetrable grip. "Release me, you foul ogre! Release me and return to the pit from whence you came!"

"How dare you call me a beast when I have only asked you for sanctuary!" remarked the woman coldly. "A simple request! It says a lot about a character when you cannot even open up your home to the tragic and deserving of travelers. _You_ , my dear, are the beast, not I."

The woman flourished into a stunning example of grandeur and beauty. No longer was she the freak of nature as her alias was; she was now in her true form.

An enchantress with dark brown hair stood before her, a smile forming on her lips as her hand moved behind her and produced a small coin purse. Inside, the Lady feared what she possessed within the old, tattered thing. She kept up her guard.

"For your noncompliance to my request, I shall place a burden upon your family." she murmured these words before reaching a hand into her purse and producing a small amount of shimmering powder. With a wicked grin, she met the Lady's eye and whispered," In ten years' time a tragedy will strike this home. The, you will know the true meaning of Beast. Heed this warning, however. There is a way to take away what has been given. It is up to you to figure it out."

With that, she blew on powder and watched gleefully as the Lady fell into a deep, forgetful slumber. In her hand, was a bud on the whispers of budding.

Upon the exchange of the curse that has plagued her, the old woman fell onto the door step, presumed dead by the given blossom.


	2. Chapter One

_I would like to wish y'all a very Happy Mother's Day._

 _As always, enjoy._

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter One_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

 _Henceforth came the marching of the call forbidden by all_

 _But, no one could have improvised what had been saw._

 _Ten comings fell into despair,_

 _And so begins the troubled story of the rightful heir._

~*.*~

* * *

 **London, England**

 **Wednesday June 27, 174**

The little girl with an abundance of hair peeked from her hiding spot and giggled. Voices blossomed around her, but none of the owners had been able to find her. It should have been a perfect hiding spot, and it was. But, for the little girl, it was an escape. No one besides her knew of its existence and she was very much inclined to keep it that way.

The Orphanage in which she lived was not usually so lively and it took a lot of getting used to. People bustled about, noises resounded heavily around the growing mass, and even the adults were keen with worry and anxiety. The little girl, however, was quiet and kept much to herself whilst they hurried around and prepared the three story housing for the impending celebration that happened several times a year. What should be one of the happiest days of her life was filled with dread; she didn't like these particular days only because she knew how the day would end. No one wanted to freak with an ability that had no explanation. All the other children made sure to make her life absolutely awful because of what and who she was. Besides, it was instilled into her mind. Who would seriously want a bushy-haired with bucked teeth girl like her? With a sigh, she pushed herself off the wall and scurried away.

Hermione was at a loss. While everyone prepared for the afternoon guests, she was left to dwell on her thoughts. Young children ran around her, chasing one another until their legs grew tired and they had to rest. As beautiful as the occasion was, she still felt sad about the entire affair.

With another sigh, the young girl decided to practice the waltz she had been given lessons for so many months prior to this day.

Dancing was safe, and it was easy. No matter what the cause, she was able to clear her mind and rest herself in the simplicity of the passion that came forth from dancing. She loved it, and it seemed like it was the only thing that loved her back. Although, secretly, there was something else she was curious about but was forbidden to even to whisper the abstract idea of it.

 _Magic._

Hermione felt the sin rise from the words, but dispersed it away with a wave of her hand. It wasn't like she said it, anyway. Not that she was afraid to, of course. She was only obeying her Mistress' rules. She did not want to have another incident on her hands. Besides, the more she found herself not thinking about it, the better it was for her. Incidents happen less frequently, and she has been able to fit in a bit more. It was her Mistress who made a big deal of it, giving the other children rein to pick on her because of her harsh comments.

"Oh, Hermione, dear," sighed one of the serving women tending the kitchen. "Do you mind helping me with this little nuisance?" She held up a small vase and indicated to the handful of Lilies she picked.

Hermione nodded cheerfully. Her serving woman smiled fondly at her as one of her friends came to pass.

"Have I not told you how darling you are?" she pinched her cheeks and handed her a small fortune of cookies and treats. "For your troubles, dear. The other orphans didn't want to help us."

"It was no problem at all, Mrs. Mavius."

Just as Hermione unwrapped her treat bag, two pairs of feet came rushing into the kitchen.

"Darren, gimmie back my dolly!" one of the youngest members of the Orphanage yelled.

Darren was incredibly mischievous, and if it wasn't for Hermione's high tolerance for him, she would have… _hexed_ him into oblivion just to teach the little bugger a lesson. Granted, she was a very gentle soul. Even her Mistress thought so. It's just sometimes he got on her last nerves long after he pressed her final button.

"Darren," the eleven-year old sighed. "Please give Elizabeth her dolly."

"Make me, freak!" he stuck out his tongue and proceeded to run away from them, nearly knocking Mrs. Mavius down along with her friend.

"Why, I never!" she said, astonished as he swept past them.

With a roll of her eyes, she set forth to chase the little demon around the building while the adults continued decorating without the slightest bit of concern.

As long as they didn't disturb the expensive vases, or destroyed the Lilies that floated within the glittering glass they did not care.

* * *

Madame Maxime stood out considerably from the crowd, and it was not for the absurdly dark purple flower in her hat or the ridiculous amount of white powder on her face. No, it was her height. Madame was incredibly tall, and considerably so. As she proceeded down the street toward the Orphanage, she felt the stares increase. If only she had thought to out on a glamour up; she knew very well that the London audience did not welcome her kind.

Very well, then. She would go hide her true form just to keep the bloody pests from leering at her when she clearly done nothing wrong. Anything at this point to get the Londoners off her back and away from her personal space.

With several quick strides, she found an abandoned alleyway, took out her wand, and proceeded to place a glamour over her body. Perhaps it would be better if she presented herself as the Muggles that surrounded her. That way, she wouldn't scare away the woman that she was about to meet, or the little girl that she hoped to obtain.

True abilities lied within the little girl and she prayed to Merlin that she would be able to convince her caretaker to give her custody of the child. She would come back, but she would be hers throughout her academic career. If she chose to come back during the holidays, she could. If not, she felt livid that she could keep her even then.

With a pleasant smile fully acquainting her lips, she stepped from the alleyway in the persona of her choosing. She now didn't tower over the individuals she passed; they towered over her.

Madame Maxime straightened her posture and before she knew it she arrived at the orphanage. If looks could be deceiving, she would have guessed it was an absolutely awful place to raise children until a good family could provide the comfort and love they so desperately needed and craved. A part of her wanted to turn around and never come back but it was under the strict orders of a very dear friend of hers that she remained where she stood. People passed, and so did her thoughts. Was this truly the place that he had told her where the young girl would be? Granted, there were not many Magical Orphanages in the surrounding area and it is the only thing she has ever come to know, but surely there would have been other places to put her?

 _There is not a single place that was not put into consideration_ , her friend's words echoed.

 _Perhaps, you are mistaken?_ she told him, urgently.

 _She has no other relatives and it was the only place that would take her._

As sad a commitment was that, she had to accept it. Her friend was very stern with her, but that did not deter her in the slightest. She came to the filthy streets of London, away from the glorious landscape of Paris, just to find and meet her. And, that is exactly what she was going to do.

Pulling away from the recess of her mind, she stole away and took flight to the decently decrepit door of the Orphanage. With three knocks to the old, wooden knocker, she waited patiently for someone to come and greet her. It did not take long, either.

A preciously young girl no older than the age of three greeted her. With frightful horror painted on her face, she turned and stumbled away and a few seconds later came back with her Mistress trailing closely behind her.

"Oh, Jane! What is it that you wanted to show me, dear?"

She did not speak for the words of pleasantry were taken from her. Instead, she pointed to Madame Maxime as she waited silently to be acknowledged. For one thing, Parisians knew how to greet their guests. Absolutely no respect was shown to her since she arrived and she was beginning to think that these people were going to be rude for her all evening. That was until the Mistress of the Orphanage spoke.

"Ah, Madame Maxime I presume?"

" _Oui_ ," she muttered softly. Judging by the way she gracefully curtsied stood to reason that she at least had the decency to teach her girls and boys manners. "You must be Mrs. Cole." She lowered herself in the traditional respect of a Parisian woman. Once she found elevation once again, the woman before allowed a smile to grace her features, though it looked almost painful and was unbearable to watch. She stepped aside to allow her entrance into the building, a careful eye lowered to the petite woman as she floated inside.

"As you may tell, we do not receive many guests. Especially during the first week of the month."

"Then, what is cause for all the commotion?"

"Adoptions," the single word sent unpleasant vibes to course down her spine. Something about adult paying money to obtain a child didn't settle right with her. Though, it was a great way to see the true hearts of the Londoners, Madame Maxime was not wholeheartedly convinced. Times were stressful, and it was not safe for a child to be handed to the arms of monsters. "We have so many children and only a handful, if not a little more, come to see them. Fewer get adopted and we are in debt. You see, the building is going to be taken, that is we are going to be evicted if we do not come up with enough sum to pay off the small fortune that has been placed on the building. I am afraid for the children's wellbeing if were are not able to come up with the finances to keep the Orphanage running. That is why we have been pushing adoptions just in case… just in case we cannot rescue our little haven."

Mrs. Cole escorted her through the main parlor and into the back room where tea and a small assortment of pastries were set up. As cozy as the accommodations were, Maxime could not help wonder what further troubles they had. What has befallen this lovely establishment, and what could a simple woman who ran a Boarding School for the extraordinarily gifted do to help? Two different worlds, and yet they could easily fall victim to the same problems.

Maxime was welcomed graciously into the sun room. While she took a seat on one of the few wooden chairs, she had time to reflect. Mrs. Cole was too preoccupied to notice as she prepared a cup for Maxime and herself. She smiled and gestured to the small plate of sugar cubs and milk, offering anything that would ease the tension between them. Nothing helped because the topic of their conversation still remained grim, but the Mistress hoped that a nice cup of tea and cake would sooth the burn.

"I must remind you of my letter," came Maxime's voice from the rubble of the Mistress' own conscious. "Remember what I am here to discuss with you? Surely, you have not forgotten?"

"How can I forget," Mrs. Cole questioned sternly. "She is the only one who has given me trouble, given me reason to fear- "

"Her abilities are not worth fearing," the woman's boarding poise caused the other to shrivel back into her chair. "It is what you do not understand that causes you to think and feel in that way. And, I would suggest you keep your rude remarks to yourself from now on. She is but a child and should not be treated like how your other children have been treating her. Like a monster, a freak. I can very well tell you that she already feels like an outcast because of her keenness for knowledge, but to top it off with her uniqueness goes beyond the physical explanation. She is suffering and will continue to suffer until you come to terms with what she is."

"And, what is that?"

"A _witch_."

Mrs. Cole nearly succumbed to a brutal heart attack. Eyes widened to the size of saucers as her hands came to grip the front of her blouse.

"Wh-why I never!" she whispered harshly. "Utter such absurd nonsense. Never in my life have I heard such rubbage, such-"

"It is the truth," Maxime's eyes darkened. A trickle of flickering light swept over them; Mrs. Cole's eyes watched with completely astonishment as the glowing bit of light came to rest right on the rim of her flowered tea cup. Seconds passed, and right before her eyes the remaining half of her tea disappeared right before her eyes. Mrs. Cole let out a strangle cry that was only muffled by the swirling smoke that came to circle around her head. "That is what you fear. What she could possibly bring, and if you agree to at least allow me to meet her, then there stands to reason that she may have a bright future before her waiting for her take. Not that she does not have one here, of course. She just cannot meet her full potential in an orphanage when the world is just blossoming right before her eyes. She is young, but we can teach her how to control it, Mrs. Cole."

The woman was still shaking from the strange experience with the unworldly extension of her guest's ability. As the smoke dissipated, her body began to relax and she was able to regain control. Her eyes shriveled about and eventually landed on Maxime.

"So, it is true, then?" she whispered. "We all assumed that she was just a little mischievous."

"All children bear that insignificant trait," she mused. "But, I cannot say it is entirely her fault. In fact, you should not blame her for any odd occurrences that have happened in her company. She is young, as I have said. She does not know how to control it. For all we know, she was provoked. Children do not have any limits to their taunting."

"But, my children-"

"Your children, I am sure, just do not understand, Mrs. Cole. You cannot expect them to, anyway."

"Never did I imagine that all the strange occurrences were the result of a unique ability."

Maxime smiled kindly. She could feel her muscles twitch underneath the skin of her cheeks. "Yes, well, children have ways of surprising us all." She took a hearty sip of her tea and sighed in relaxation.

Mrs. Cole pursed her lips.

"Hermione is a very interesting little girl, I must say. Why, she is the most well-mannered, intelligent, and compassionate little girl you will ever meet."

"I am sure," Maxime mused thoughtfully. "All children are precious."

"Yes, but I believe there is more to her that your source has not included you in."

"And, what might that be?"

The Mistress of the Orphanage hesitated before whispering," Hermione's parents. We found them." She confessed. "Most of the orphans that live here have relatives all over Europe, but we simply could not find any for her. All her relatives are presumed dead."

"And, of her parents?" she asked, hopeful.

"Dead." She told her. "I have not had the heart to tell her the sad news of her parent's death."

Maxime leaned back in her chair and allowed the tears to come unprofessionally to her eyes. " _C'est horrible_!"

" _Oui, Je sais_." Mrs. Cole agreed uneasily. "Unmarked graves if you dare to care. Not far from town if I am not mistaken."

"When do you plan on telling the poor child?"

"When she is of age."

"When she turns sixteen?"

Mrs. Cole nodded. "We believe it would be for the best. I do not think any good would come from telling her now, especially when you have made arrangements to allow her to attend your Boarding school."

"Yes, Beauxbaton is quite anxious to receive her. It is a fairly small school and all my girls' interests have surrounding the impending arrival of a new classmate."

"It sounds like a lovely school, Madame."

" _C'est_ _magnifique_ _!_ " she agreed with a divine smile. "All my girls are lovely in grace and in beauty. We simply cannot wait to have her attend."

The Mistress of the Orphanage considered the appointment for a moment before a question arose. "What sort of things will she learn there?" An elegantly tailored eyebrow rose. "I do hope that this Boarding School of yours is more than a wishful escape. There as to be some coordination in your treatment of the girls."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Why, lessons, my dear woman! What of her lessons?"

"Oh," she could not suppress the giggle that bubbled inside of her. Even Mrs. Cole let out a rather rude expression of happiness and delight. "I assure you the lessons are just as you expected. We do condition our girls to be valuable models of perfection in history, mathematics, science and whatever foreign language they wish to learn. Not a single one of them comes out and does not live up to the expectation of a young woman. However, there are lessons that deem worthy of another agenda. What I mean is, the lessons we provide strive to control and conceal their use of magic. As it is unladylike to show the skin of one's ankles, it is unladylike to show the use of magic in unwanted company. It is extraordinary to say the least, but we women must learn to wield the gift we were given. Men expect that of us and you rarely come across a man that is willing to break away from the conformity of our era and certainly not our kind."

"You dare tell me… that there are a great many of you among us?"

She nodded.

"I must say that is truly remarkable," breathed Mrs. Cole. "I have to say that I am pleased to hear that you go to such lengths to ensure your girl's future stays intact."

"Of course," she smiled again. "Nothing less for my girls." Then, she paused. "I must ask you, though."

"What is your inquiry?"

"The girl." She said. "When will I be able to meet her?"

Mrs. Cole stared at her for a second before reaching to the tea pot and pouring them both a second helping of tea. "That is not up to me."

"I only ask because term starts September first and I would behoove you to push whomever is in charge to allow me to speak to her."

"You misunderstood me," Mrs. Cole sighed, placing the tea pot rather loudly back upon the clothed table. "It is not up to me, but Hermione. I cannot speak for her. As much as I love the idea of her going off and exploring the world for her own eyes, I cannot agree unless she is comfortable about the idea. She has no inkling as to what her uniqueness is. Hermione is a fragile girl, even more so after receiving the terrible news of her parents. I simply cannot provoke the words when I myself do not know what she is thinking."

"Then, when can I speak to her?"

Mrs. Cole looked up from her tea cup and said," As soon as I can convince her that no harm can ever come to her."

* * *

Hermione chased Darren for what seemed like eternity. As always, the rowdy eight-year-old was gifted in the art of escape and deception. It took every ounce of her own guidance to find the little boy, whom had resumed messing with Elizabeth's doll by drawing on the face with pastel and rubbing dirt into its clothes. With a dreadful scream, he stopped his treatment and scrambled off deep into the house and wasn't seen since.

Elizabeth was in a deplorable mess. No matter how much she tried to calm her, she just would not listen. Princess had been one and only doll, the only reminder of a mother she never knew. It broke Hermione's heart seeing her so distressed and vowed to her that she would do everything within her power to clean and restore it back to its former, beautiful glory. Elizabeth was truly beyond herself.

"You would do that?" she asked innocently as they settled themselves upon the open grass. A nice zephyr rocked them in a tuneless lullaby as she wiped away the remnants of the distressed caused by Darren. As sand was washed away by the ocean, so was her tears.

"Of course," Hermione smiled, arranging her skirts so it didn't blow dangerously in the wind. "I will tell Mrs. Cole what Darren did as soon as I see her. After supper we can try to get rid of the dirt and grass for Princess' skirts."

"She won't let us bathe her!"

"Well," she smiled," what she doesn't know won't come to harm her, yes?"

Elizabeth giggled, which brought Hermione to giggle behind her hand as well.

"We'll get our payback, won't we?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!" she agreed loudly. "I say we go and find one of his toys and dunk it in mud. Maybe it will teach him a lesson."

Hermione shook her head. As much as she would love to do that, Mrs. Cole simply would not approve of the manner in which we took to act out their revenge. All they needed to do, she explained, was tell Mrs. Cole what happened and the Master of the boys will give out whatever punishment he saw fit. She agreed and the topic turned gloomy.

"Do you think we'll get adopted?" Elizabeth finally calmed down with her harsh suggestions and turned to a topic that Hermione simply didn't wish to discuss.

She shrugged. "One must remain hopeful, I suppose."

"Are you hopeful?"

Hermione looked at her, trying hard not to pave way to the hesitation that was surely playing in her eyes. "Never. I never gave up hope."

"I don't want to get adopted," Elizabeth confessed. "I want to stay here and play with everyone else. I don't want to say goodbye."

A heart felt pain shot through her. Of course she didn't wish that, either. None of the orphans were that senseless and heartless to just get up without at least bidding them farewell. Hermione had remained at the Orphanage the longest and she couldn't express just how many people she's had to let go over the years. Too many to count, she quipped as another painful wreckage disturbed her. Elizabeth, as she knew, was awaiting a letter from her distant relatives and wasn't one of the orphans in the market to be adopted. She was one of her only friends and if she left, Hermione didn't know what she would do. Everyone else was just so mean and cruel to her. Without Elizabeth's guidance, she would be lost.

"Maybe you come with me," she offered kindly. "My great Aunt lives just outside of London and she is really so sweet!"

"I don't think she would be able to find accommodations for someone like me," she said warily, weak of her own observations about herself.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she swallowed the lump in her throat and exhaled sharply," that your Aunt, I don't believe, would take too well with my kind."

Elizabeth, though the tender age of six was actually fairly smart and informally vigilant. Nothing got passed her. "You are afraid of being accepted?"

The young girl nodded, drawing her legs up to her chest and burrowing her face into her knees. She cried silently for a moment until she felt Elizabeth's soft arms wrap around her shoulders.

"You mustn't think such thoughts, Hermione!"

"W-why shouldn't I? Everyone else already thinks I am a freak!"

"You are no such thing!"

"Yes I am!" she pushed her off of her and stumbled to her feet. "And, I would advise you to not treat me like I am one of you."

"One of what?"

"Ordinary," she hissed. "Belligerently submissive. I am anything but what the other orphans say. I am… I am a monster."

Elizabeth stared at her until an alarmingly serious breach shifted across her features. "You are no monster, Hermione. They are."

Hermione shook her head, refusing to believe what the other girl was trying to persuade her to believe. In all her years, she never thought she could come to believe such rubbage, no matter how persuasive the argument.

"As much as I like to dwell on that thought, Eliza, I cannot." Hermione let out a shaky breath. "Go to your Aunt's. Go and be free. I will stay here and flourish in my own time."

"I do not want to leave you here." she begged, tears staining her own pristine skin. "I implore you to reconsider!"

The curly-haired girl reached out and brought her into a tight hug. Both remained silent. The lonesome hush was only accompanied by their tears and woes. After a long progression of sorrow, the girls pulled apart but remained distantly close.

"I cannot follow you on your path, Elizabeth. But, no matter what, we will remain close."

"Promise me that we will! Promise me that neither of us will lose connection with one another."

"I promise," she said, kissing her friend's cheek and smiling.

"I'm telling you she is a liar!" yelled Darren as Mr. Filch tightened his grip on his upper arm. With a sneer, he shook him slightly and growled obscenities under his breath.

"Aye, like I would believe that for one bloody moment!" he hissed harshly into his face. "I know you stole her dolly and buried it in the soil!"

"I did not!"

As Mr. Filch reprimanded Darren for what he did to Elizabeth's dolly, the girl's stood just beyond the threshold of the Dining Hall, giggling hysterically with their hands thrown to their mouths. Hermione didn't particularly like getting the other orphans into trouble, but Darren certainly deserved it. Under no circumstance was it nice to take a girl's doll and dirty it up was her one and true philosophy, among a great many of things.

"I will ask Mrs. Cole what to do with you." Sneered Mr. Filch. "In the meantime, go into your room and wait until she is ready to speak to you."

With that Darren pushed the offending hand off his shoulder. Glaring at the caretaker, he stomped away, brushing threateningly against Hermione's arm. He made sure he bumped into her with full throttle. She rubbed the injured arm and frowned.

"Mr. Filch!" Elizabeth jumped up and down. "Can I have my dolly back?"

"I thought you and your little friend were going to take care of it?" he asked, suspiciously.

"We are, sir. We just wanted to make sure that it was alright to do so."

Mr. Filch looked at them, quirking an eyebrow before nodding several times and walking away. Elizabeth stared at the caretaker's retreating back for several minutes before turning to Hermione.

It was during this time that they commenced helping the other orphans with the last minute preparations. As much as she hated it, Hermione had to comply to this decorum. Whilst they helped the serving women and men of the Orphanage, a retreating force came around and pulled both of their ponytails.

" _Ow_!" yelped Elizabeth as Darren came around and glared at them.

"That's what you get, you little brat!"

"I am not a brat!"

"Yes you are!" he urged.

"You don't have to be so mean, you bully!" cried Elizabeth.

Hermione held her stance as Darren turned and narrowed his eyes on her. "And, you," he began, shifting his weight to his other side," you're that girl they're always whispering about."

"Who?"

"Our Master and Mistress." he spat. "Always whispering about you and praising you like you are worth of such appraisal."

"Says who?"

"Says _me_ ," he reached out and pulled at her hair once again. "You _insufferable_ know-it-all _freak_!"

Before he had the chance to pull at her hair again, a hand came down and slapped it away from her. "I dare say, I thought your boys were better behaved then this," the petite, black-haired woman said as she returned the same loathing look as he presented her.

"I thought they were," Mrs. Cole came to pick away at the icy tension between Hermione and Darren. "Everything alright, Mr. Evans?"

He gulped audibly, backing away from the glowering face of his Mistress. "N-no ma'am."

"Good," she smiled. "Now, I do believe Mr. Filch suggested you go to your quarters, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I would suggest you go on and do that."

Darren immediately set towards the stairs, muttering obscenities under his breath as he escaped from Mrs. Cole's regression.

The woman who stooped eased the boy's touch from pursuing further physical bodily harm placed a hand atop of her head and said," _C'est bien, mon cher_."

The second she uttered those words, a sense of warmth spread through her head and down her body. She gasped at the sudden sensation before it settled like a kind of sincere warm ache in the pit of her tummy. The woman smiled down upon her.

" _Mieux_?" she whispered to her.

She nodded, " _Qui_ ," she breathed in utter wonderment. " _Merci, Madame_."

The woman smiled and said not to her but to her Mistress," I trust that you know how to contact me, Mrs. Cole?"

Hermione's Mistress nodded. "Of course, Madame."

She watched as the woman rose and was seen off by their Mistress. As soon as Mrs. Cole closed the front doors behind their guest, the enchantment and Hermione was left to remember what Darren had said. Provoked by those horrible words, she ran as fast as she could, ignoring the calls of her Mistress and friend. All she wanted after that ordeal was to be left alone. Not even the knocking on her bedroom door or the call for breakfast brought her out of the noticeably unhappy state.

* * *

Well, what did y'all think? Let me know in your reviews :)

 **A/N:** Historical references will start to take shape in the up-coming chapters. This was written to simple introduce you to a couple of characters.


	3. Chapter Two

**_A/N down below, so please read._**

 _As always, enjoy._

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Two_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

Disheartened by words so cruel

Stained by the ink plays the fool

Follow a girl who tides the hand

Whilst trying to find a sorrowed coo

~*.*~

* * *

 **London, England**

 **Saturday June 30, 1742**

Come the beginning of the following week, all was but forgotten. Darren no longer seemed to hold any grudges against the girls and was thrown back into his detestable wickedness that everyone has come to adapt to. He had not forgiven Hermione and Elizabeth for what they had done, and only continued to antagonize them. Luckily, however, his delivery never came because of the watchful eye of their Master and Mistress. t was another victory for the girls that did not come without celebration. The children of the Orphanage were busy with their studies. And, the lessons were just as cruel.

By the middle of the week, everyone was physically and mentally drained. Lessons happened four times a week with the exception of examinations and etiquette lessons, which were given at three o'clock to five-thirty every day. They were taught how to walk properly, with their heads held up high, mannerisms in the dining room, and so much more. Although the girl's adored their lessons with their Mistress, which were given and aimed to increase their chances of their respective futures, one of them could not be bothered to learn something as basic as curtsying, the correct line of forks and knives, and how to address the individuals that may meet their acquaintance.

Hermione let out an unnoticed sigh. She was undoubtedly aggravated. History was one of her most favorite subjects, she just could not concentrate on what Mrs. Cole was discussing. Time seemed to stretched on endlessly. All the children in her grade were drawing close to their breaking points, as well. This lesson was just so dreadfully boring that even the smartest of her year found it hard to find gratitude in the shaping of Europe and vigorous economic expansion. She simply did not care to learn about any of this useless rubbage. As of late, she was not up for much of anything.

"Today, as we have done during last couple of weeks preceding this one, we are going to explore the unknown. First, we are going to go over several dynamics of the Renaissance and what may have contributed to the revolution in art, literature, and scholarly achievement."

Everyone took a quick glance around, and for once looked relieved that Hermione couldn't provide an idea to their Mistress' introduction to their History lesson. With a collective sigh, they turned their attention back to their notes and began copying notes from the pages of their tomes onto pieces of parchment. While their Mistress lectured them, she randomly called on one of her students to answer a question.

"Ms. Cummings, what say you?" she asked, the discussion hinting more at a simple answer.

A small girl named Jullian Cummings sunk into her chair, afraid of what their Mistress would say. Evident as the waters from spring rain, she did not want to answer, knowing that her peers were sure to explode into raucous laughter if she produced an uninspiring answer.

"I do not know, Ms. Cole."

Their Mistress' eyebrow arched sharply. "Why do you say that?"

"I do not know how to answer," she mumbled, embarrassed.

The children snickered around her and she sunk further into her chair.

"If you do not know, then I shall ask someone else as to allow them to enlighten you." She smiled, calming the child down. With the years of experience she had with children she was able to calm any troubled soul down with just the right words and gestures. "Very well, then. Can anyone spark the innovations of this conversation and deliver to us a valuable opinion?"

Her peers looked around and looked to Hermione to provide an answer to the topic but none came. Not because she did not have one, but simply she was tired of providing the drive that the conversation needed to flourish. With an unsettling progression of anger and confusion, the children turned to face their Mistress. She did not say a word, but continued on with the lesson. To their relief, no one was asked to answer another question.

The children around her grew animated. Class was always well received, though Hermione couldn't help feel that something was off. After an hour passed, the History lesson ended, and they immediately moved onto grammar and spelling. It was just as boring as their other lessons, but at least no one was allowed to talk. Hermione could use peace and quiet in the horrible hour of the early morning.

"You have thirty minutes to go over your vocabulary words. Do not forget you will be quizzed on them this Friday. "

Ms. Cole then set off and went around to ensure that her students were doing as she asked. With her help, some of them were able to pull through the list of words that she gave them and memorize them better than any of them could have wished.

"Harold, can you help me with this word?" Jullian asked under her breath as Mrs. Cole made her rounds in the front of the fifteen-student classroom.

Class was normally held in the second room off the landing in the building but today they were having class in one of the unoccupied rooms in the far north of the second floor. All the younger children were off somewhere else, perhaps on the main floor and having their lessons there. Hermione mused quietly until the girl next to her asked for the same vocabulary word again. The entire building was being renovated for the coming week. Hopefully, as it has been in the past, the ruckus would not disturb anything else that had been planned the week prior to adoptions.

A sickening feeling began to turn inside her stomach. As always, she was left to inquire alone about the prospect of this month's adoption being the answer to her prayers. She had not given up hope, at least to all that took pity and view on her. As she sat there, the children began to whisper.

"Purgatory." he whispered under his breath, then proceeded to help her spell the word.

Hermione scrunched up her face. What an awful word, she thought as she, too, became writing down the word, though without the aid of his equally atrocious spelling. How he was able to progress this far into his education was beyond him. Not that she could complain. Some of the these spelling words can be hard! Mastery of knowledge was an art form of its own, she supposed musingly.

With a sigh, she grabbed her quell and began scribbling the words that she had already set out to learn upon the clean surface of her parchment. What she would rather be doing did not reside in the humid room of the Orphanage; it was days like this one that she could be found in the garden, picking up weeds and ridding the back terrace of the nuisance of vines. Yet, she found herself there in the classroom filled with children who were doing everything in their power to distract her while distracting themselves from their own work.

"I am so terribly tired of these words!" Jullian huffed, storing her parchment underneath her book. She snapped her head to the side and quipped with the boy beside her. "There are so many of them and the additions are endless."

"You must not let Ms. Cole know, then." Harold conceded. "I am growing tired of this useless subjects. Who care if we cannot spell these horrid words?"

"It is not like we will be tested by an adult in the near future," she mumbled, agreeably.

The children murmured their approval as Hermione continued to write. As she dipped her quell back into her bottle, Harold voice disturbed her.

"At least one of us finds enjoyment."

"What is gotten into her?" another asked. "First poor Darren, now she won't even answer the questions for us. Has she deserted her post?"

"I say we mess with her."

"No," Harold said under his breath. "I have a better way of toying with her. You shall see."

Most of the conversation had been blocked out simply because she had no interest in what they were planning. It became very evident that it involved her, and by the time she realized she should say something to them, one of the boys decided against her actions.

" _Pssst_!"

Sounds of soft scribbles filled the air, but unfortunately for the caller, his message was unheard.

" _Pssssst_!"

Hermione continued to focus on her work until the annoying noise became too much to bear. With alacrity, she turned, glaring at the intruder of her most precious thoughts.

"What?" she hissed.

Harold chuckled and nodded his head in the direction of what he was holding underneath his desk. There, she found something disturbing.

Somehow, he had gotten hold of one of the few possessions she owned. The first edition to a history book that she had saved for countless years was lying on his lap, the tip of his quell only inches from the front page. A gleam chased across his green eyes while her eyes sparkled with unshed tears; she prayed that he didn't do what he was promising to do. What she couldn't understand was how Jullian got the book. How on earth did he get it when she literally kept the precious tome under lock and key. The only way he could have gotten it was if he stolen her key.

Hermione's hand tried to catch the chain in which that held said key but found that it wasn't there. Mounting with anger, she turned and glared at the boy.

"Give it back," she mouthed, shaking.

He chuckled, shaking his head. With the words 'never' gracing the unpronounced air, he turned his hand downward and allowed the first drop of ink to sully the page. If her heart could stop at this moment and end her misery, it did not. With each addition drop, her anger rose and without realizing it, so did her tears. The children around her must have her pathetic whimpering because they too joined in the torment.

"Look, she's crying!" one of the boys closest to her proclaimed.

"Oh, what is she crying about now?" another asked, genuinely taken aback by her ungraceful behavior.

Hermione reached up to dry her tears and as she did, Jullian stood from his desk and smeared some of his ink onto her cheeks, laughing along with the rest of the class. The only one who did not find amusement in the torture of the young girl was Jullian and Mrs. Cole, who had put an immediate stop to the lesson to help Hermione and reprimand the boy.

"Harold!" she cherished the air with her harsh voice. "Why on earth did you do that?"

The boy snickered, and before she could stop, he reached out and grabbed the ink bottle and tossed the contents at Hermione. The ink blessed her skin, the front of her skirts and breast. What used to be a content girl now stood one with regret. Just as Harold had done with the ink bottle, Hermione escape just before Mrs. Cole could even get a word. As she did, the boy's cruel words haunted her like possessed ravens.

* * *

His words seemed to chase after her. When she could no longer bear the hurtful announcement of his thoughts, she tuned them out. She ran. As fast as her short legs could carry her. There was but one destination in mind, one where no one, she was certain, would not find her. Its discovery had been a marvelous mistake.

Right off the front entrance was a secret door that lead up to a mysterious attic with a high ceiling and a dusty dream. The stairs were old and likely to break underneath the right amount of strain. For years she has come to this haven and as a wishful picture settled into a home, still with no mother and father. She liked to believe. And, with the addition of two unlikely guests, she was able to.

As soon as she was cleared to do so, she searched underneath the carpets and produced a single nail. With it, she pried open the secret door, silently marveling at the stairs. The moment she squeezed through the opening, she closed the door and was welcomed with resounding darkness.

It was fitting, somehow. Whilst she climbed, she entertained the boy's nasty words. It was clear that no one but the adults liked her. She could not understand the animosity towards her, but she was very much aware of it. And, while most tried their best to hide the fact that the hated her, some chose to make it apparent. Harold and Darren were two perfect examples of such intolerance. Why the children hated her was a question she has been asking herself for years. Sure, she was the eldest. She had not been seen by anyone who showed the least bit of attention to her, and would not likely be adopted at all. Not that she minded staying at the Orphanage until she found a suiter or moved on. It just hurt to know that not even the children that she played with and attended lessons with did not want her there. She was a piece of trash that they all wanted to get rid of as soon as humanly possible. For some reason, she believed it because who would want a freak like her?

Why was it so hard to fit in with the ' _gift_ ' that her Mistress always praised? As unnatural it was for her to be able to move objects, make things appear and disappear, and force the voice from one's throat, why did it have to happen to her? Was she no suffering enough as it was, and if not, why this _curse_? Out of all the children on earth, why her?

Hermione made it through the tight tunnel and was covered with more than just ink. Dust and tiny bits of glass glittered her skin and clothing. Her sanctuary had been part of an elaborate design and a cellar of liquor of some sorts. One had to be careful when treading its short distance.

She fussed with her dress until cleaning herself become too much of a burden. As of now, she simply did not care what she looked like and was very much content of keeping her appearance as evidence to the boy mistreatment. As she looked around, taking in her small surroundings as she has done so in the past, she vowed to get her book back. The vengeful spirit that resided within her wanted retribution, but she could not deliver. Harold was due to be picked up by his adoptive family within the next week and she did not want to do anything that would damage his chances of going home with them. Unfortunately, London was not safe at this present moment and she feared it would not be for some time. War was breaking out subtly around the world, and with a kindred heart, she prayed that everything would eventually settle back it what it once was. With that thought, she prayed that Harold would find enlightenment as she tried to find forgiveness in his actions.

A tiny ray of hope seemed to illuminate the dank room. Hermione took it as a sign that all would be well, so long as her positivity remained high. That was all she could do now. She knew anything less than what she has been doing would not prevail; sometimes, that is all one can have.

"I cannot give up hope," she murmured to herself as she discarded her apron and looked around. "One must not give their adversaries reason to abuse."

With a well-practiced swirl, she embarked on a safe and serene journey.

If it was one thing that could calm her, it was the inexplicable musings of her artwork.

Hermione was always a quiet, studious child. From early on, she showed exquisite talent in many forms. Her gift, her magic had been proven to be an outlet she desperately needed. She could not wield it as well as she had hoped, but it served as a tight barrier from the outside world and the one she created for herself. Born from the swirls that still bewitched her to this day, her providence found the light.

Motley of colors exploded around her. Visions of colored orchards, reverie waters, and beautiful fields began to be the muse of her inspiration. At the calling, Hermione hurried around the dust, old room and collected every color of paint that had bene lying about when she first discovered the secret room. The walls had become her canvas, the floor the streets of her power, and the furniture, in juxtaposition to her longing, her outlet in which she strived. Once she found the last remaining bit of space that she could reach, she set to work, opening up to the last thing she was not able to forget.

The branches of her misfortune carved into wooden structure. Her soul bled as the fingers stretched out from their long rest. Dead leaves were strewn by the trees grave, embellishing the decrepit piece whilst drawing the eye from the natural order. Her heart was brought forth from the haunting artwork, and as the paint dried to patchy splotches, the wooden wall began to crumble. Unbeknownst to her, Hermione anger had finally come to manifest from inside her and became a powerful residential to what she could not control. A single crack sliced the tree in half, thus proving to her once and for all that her enemies could not be saved and that she was fated to roam with the smear of ink that stained her skin for the rest of her days.

She was cursed. Unconditionally, undoubtedly, and eternally cursed. Forever branded with the mark bestowed upon the darkest, proclaimed figure, she felt herself beginning to waste away like the art that she just created. She would live without the rays of love, the dalliance of friendship, nor the patent admiration that comes with decadence; she would not know what it would feel compliant to the feelings of others.

Without acceptance, she fell to the ground and wept. To her, she had not been her but for a friend who knew more about the hurt she was faced with had.

"Hermione," came the voice of her one and only friend.

She turned apathetically to Elizabeth, whom grounded herself strongly in her place. Tears stained her own cheeks as more came to cascade down the rounded curves. Her hair, tossed into her decorative bun was unkempt. How long had she been searching for her and how long had she been there? With these questions, she grew angry. How dare she feign concern. Even if she was her best friend, she could see past her lies. "Why?" she asked, her voice no higher than a whisper. "Why does this keep happening to me?"

Elizabeth continued to stare at her, her eyes filling with tears. She grabbed her paintbrush and began to splatter the corrupted hue of black upon her masterpiece. The blood of the dying trunk leaked out from the deep grooves and collected in a pool around their feet. They sunk as if drowning in the clearest waters. It took every bit of the younger girl's strength to stop Hermione from ending it all. Neither of them deserved, nor wished, to end their lives in a deserted attic when no one knew of its existence. With all her heart, Elizabeth did not wish to see her friend go and made a point to stop her foolishness once and for all.

"You must stop doing this!" she reached out and grabbed her arm.

"No!" she shrieked, letting the dam of her tears go. "I cannot! Do not try to tell me otherwise!"

"You are hurting yourself, 'Mione."

"I do not care," she cried. "I do not care because they are right! I'm worthless. No one wants me and no one ever will!"

"That is not true!"

"Yes, it is. And, you know it!" Hermione sobbed. "You know it to be the truth.

With this last statement, Elizabeth broke down along with her. Not because she knew it was the truth, but for she did not understand what was real or not."

They stayed there as long as time would allow. Inside the forgotten plane of Hermione's despair, the girls were able to find some evolvement. Elizabeth truly was a blessing in disguise. Though, was it time that really allowed such a development to occur, or was it some mystical powers within her younger friend that caused the transition? One could on speculate.

The girls shared in several quiet activities, and through the looking glass of the broken roof, they were able to find peace with the sunshine and whimsical bird that sung in perfect harmonization. Paper bird flew around, chirping and chasing one another as the two of them danced the landscape of the creaky floors. It was a wonder that no one was able to find this place because of the noise that pierced the air and shook the walls. Elizabeth was the only one besides their mistress that was not scared of her gift and Hermione remained forever grateful of their giving hands.

Time pressed on, and it came apparent that they could no longer spend their time in the arms of their dream.

"We must leave soon," Liza whispered, turning from the destroyed tree and looking at Hermione.

She nodded. "I know."

"Where will you go?"

"I do not know," she sighed. "I am not leaving you, Liza."

Elizabeth smiled. "I know. I was only asking, that is all."

The older girl looked at her and said," I would never desert this place. It is the only home I have." Then she looked away. She did not want to even entertain the idea of what the young girl was insinuating. One thing was for sure, thought. She would never leave. Ever. No matter how awful the taunting became, she would never lose hope. But, sometimes it was fine to lose some of it. It only meant she was strong enough to last this long before she able to realize how much further she wanted to go.

"I meant, what are you going to do about your stupid bullies?" Sometimes, she forgot just how young she was. Hermione giggled at her boldness, though.

"I am not sure." It was the truth. She knew that Ms. Cole must have done something to discipline them. Even with knowing her and how she operated, she could very well say it just was not enough. No one would ever be able to get across to them that treating anyone with such hatred with frowned upon. Maybe they truly hated her.

"Oh, nonsense."

Hermione frowned, wondering what she was talking about. Elizabeth elaborated for her.

"They do not hate you, silly!"

Her frown deepened before realizing she had spoken out loud and she blushed. The younger girl laughed musically as her easily embarrassed friend.

"If they hated you, Hermione, they would have drove you out years ago and we would not be lying her today in dust and scattered rubbish."

"Very true," she agreed, motioning to stand. "Well, I think it is best that we leave."

"Why is that?"

"Our classes. Were they not still in session?"

Elizabeth bit her lip, indicating that there was something that she was not telling her.

"Was is it, Liza?" she asked, her voice coming in a soft piece. She tried her best to remain calm, but it was hard not to be angry at what she was keeping from her.

"Ms. Cole… she got really angry at Harold. She went to my class and asked us all to go back to our rooms and that was when I knew something had happened."

"What could you have possibly learned from her proclamation?"

"I knew that it had something to do with you. Ms. Cole was dreadfully distressed and could not come up with more than a few words. Ms. Gretchen went hysterical and so did some of the other children. Your leave has caused such a disturbance. They think you ran away!"

"Good," Hermione stated as she stood and went to clean up her paints. "Maybe they will finally leave me alone. I can live here, restore this room and live off my artwork. All I ever wanted was to be accepted and lead a simple life! Why should they ruin that chance at normalcy by pretending to care?"

"You think they are pretending?" grossed Liza, saddened. "That all their concern was for naught, that they truly wish for you to be gone and forever lost?"

"You would not know by the way the treat me and some of the other older orphans…"

Elizabeth shook her head and walked over to her. "They love you, Hermione." She told her. "They look up to you and see you as a mother they never had. Granted, you are the oldest, but you are the wisest and most cherished of the orphans. Without you, I daresay, some of us simply would not have the inspiration to stay positive."

It was so hard to stay true to herself whilst listening to her words. As hard to believe, somewhere deep down in her heart she knew it to be true. Not all the orphans hated her, just the ones who have been there with her since infancy. They were traumatized with bitterness; they all had been abandoned in one form or another and would love nothing more than the companionship that came with having a family. Alas, that was a wishful dream. Sometimes, all the could afford was each other and it seemed to her that the eldest orphan among them was the most treasured one at that. Deep down, they could not lose her as she could not lose them.

"I did not think of it in that way," she confessed, overcome with sadness once more. "They were so cruel…"

"Cruelty hides what the heart does not want to confess." Elizabeth told her. "Have you ever hidden something that you could not even begin to explain?"

Of course, she wanted to tell her. What held her back was the fact that her gift was not something of legacy, but of fright. Even if she was a beloved idol of her younger peers, the simplicity of the matter was that she was different and if anyone were to find out what she truly was their image of her would forever be tainted.

"Even if you are hiding something, you can still be looked upon with respect."

The girls shared one uninterrupted moment before a voice pulled them away from one another.

"How very touching," Ms. Cole said from the spot in which she stood.

With a gasp, Hermione and Elizabeth pulled away and cowered underneath their Mistress' unemotional glare. In an instant, she strode over and hovered above them, eyeing them both contemporarily. Several seconds of this silence passed before she knelt down and embraced the missing girl.

"I thought you had gone," she said, her voice forgiving as it shook. "You were so upset and I- I did not know what to do! I am so sorry, Hermione."

"It is me who should be sorry, Ms. Cole." she assured her. "I shouldn't have ran away!"

"Any sensible individual would have in any given situation. I fear that it did more harm than good, but you are safe and that is all that matters."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her Mistress' neck and sighed into her breast. Another pair of arms joined hers and they three stood just like that for quite a few minutes before pulling away.

"You shall never do that again. Do you hear me?" she scolded her. "Nearly gave me a heart attack, but thank goodness I know all your little secret hiding places."

"I will never desert you again!" she promised before asking. "What shall happen to my sanctuary? You won't board it up, will you?"

"I believe it is time for you to leave." Ms. Cole told the younger girl. "Inform Mr. Filch and Ms. Gretchen of Hermione's retrieval. I shall be there shortly to escort her back to her lessons with the other girls."

"But-"

"Leave, Elizabeth."

She turned to Hermione who gave her a pleasing smile. The younger girl tried her best to return it but found no comfort in knowing that her friend would be alone in the same room as Ms. Cole.

When she did and the door snapped close, the older woman turned and stared her down. There was a fiery vengeance in them, bringing the most admirable sentence from her young learner. They did not scream punishment, but held onto a softer clarity.

"I am not mad," she finally said, reaching out to tuck a disobedient curl behind her ear. "However, I do wish to discuss this with you."

"There is nothing to discuss, ma'am."

"Yes, there is." Her voice was gentle as always. "I am afraid there is nothing you can do about the matter. We will discuss this, but on other terms. We shall not talk about it tonight. For now, let us adjourn to our next lesson and put this vile experience both behind us.

Before her beloved Mistress pulled away, Hermione clasped her hand and looking searchingly into her eyes.

"You heard, did you not?"

"Heard what, my dear?"

"About the other children. Them loving for me but being too afraid to admit it and some taunting about not being able to fit in. I know you heard."

Ms. Cole looked at her and a smile slowly formed on her lips. "I always knew you were brilliantly observant, Hermione. Just as I always thought you would be loved by anyone who had the privilege to be graced by your presence."

"How long have you known the true nature behind their cruelty?" she asked, scared.

"I have known for quite a while," she confessed. "Though, their taunts are not entirely from the truth. They have been bred from their fear of being alone, as well as their undisciplined understanding of your extraordinary gift."

"Elizabeth said they are scared. Are they scared that I will hurt them as other's have done?"

Ms. Cole considered this for a moment. "I believe that could be one possibility. Though, I must ask. Would you intentionally harm the ones that caused you pain?"

"Not intentionally, ma'am. Though, I would not rest unless I see some retribution for what they have done."

"Then I see no reason to believe such nonsense." She smiled. "The other children are scared of your ability, Hermione. But they must learn to come to terms that it is a part of you as the rest of your characteristics make you whole. I do believe you would not be knowledgeable without your brilliant mind, now would you?"

She giggled a 'no.'

"Then, without your gift, you would be just like everyone else." She concluded. "And, without these adherents whom asked to remain anonymous, you would not have made it this far without giving up. You have not given up, have you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, ma'am. I have not."

"Good, then." Ms. Cole looked at her before pulling her into another hug. "I do not wish for you to waste your remaining youth wishing upon a fallen star. You were created in the image of God, and you should not take His blessing for something to hate. You will find your beauty, child. You just have to be patient."

"What if I cannot be patient? What if I truly am tired of waiting for someone to come around to accept me for who I am?"

The question she had been dying to ask for as long as she could remember was on the tip of her tongue.

Instead of wanting to know who she was, she wanted to know what she was and if there was anything in God's plans that would save her from the turmoil that sparked within her.

That night, even then her mind was plagued with that one question that her Mistress just could not answer.

* * *

 **A/N:** Good evening. I do hope that you all had a splendid weekend because I know I did. I found out this past Wednesday after getting drunk that I am the wild, crazy, bearing all secrets drunk and that it only takes two shots of peach Vodka do get me hammered, lol. I am under-aged and won't be 21 until October of this year. No one rat me out, alright?

Firstly: I did not edit this chapter as much as I should have. I do promise you a fully edited chapter will come Monday morning.

Secondly: There may be a change in the date/year of this story. I do not make a habit of changing things such as that, but there is a possibility that I might have to. Initially, I wanted to follow a documentary that I saw on the years that some of these events take place but found that the information I needed was hard to come by. I am more familiar with the 1700's+, anyway. I will let you know. If I do not change it by Chapter Four, then perfect. I did, however, change the date for the first chapter. It was accurate, so I apologize. The website I used was not good and I would rather use a good and resourceful website for dates and historical references than just write blindly. Again, I will let you know.

Thirdly: I want to address the update schedule :) Updates will occur every Sunday, unless postponed. I am in my third semester of my Cosmetology course and I am totally excited :D I will be on the floor fucking up people's hair and doing a lot of finger waves. (Yippee!)

Anyway, I shall see you all soon!

-Ann10155


	4. Chapter Three

_As always, enjoy._

 _ **A/N down below**._

 **Note:** For some strange reason, I could not word chapter four the way that I wanted to. So, I had to add some to this chapter as to allow me to do what I pleased in the next chapter, which should come some time between 6/1 and 6/2, followed by another update on 6/5.

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Three_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

Misguidance lies in the clouded abyss

A song that played tunelessly until now

Softened by the coming day

But not born to be found,

A shadow awaits

~*.*~

* * *

 **London, England**

 **Tuesday July 3, 1742**

The morning of July Third came unbearably fast. The first of July had been marked on the calendar and forced into the public eye by the news boy whom was patronized by the audience of London of the banality of their announcement. Adoptions only happened several times a year, five to be exact, yet the public saw it as a nuisance that they would rather much get rid of altogether. Not in the highest of spirts, the orphans adjourned to the Dining Hall where they sat to eat their breakfast and talk amongst themselves until their lessons at nine o'clock.

Hermione had been formally accepted back into the good graces of her peers. After her failure to tell anyone where she had gone, she had been welcomed back with opened arms. It was as if they had truly missed her and were dreadfully apologetic for what had transpired. Even Darren, the boy behind the awful trick, had apologized profusely for ruining her favorite tome. All was forgiven, though not forgotten. The day would forever remain tainted, even when the years escaped her and she forgotten why she was so angry.

After the welcome, she sat down and helped herself to an array of porridge and fruit. It was freshness among the coming hectic schedule. Since adoptions were taking place, etiquette classes were pushed further back into the day and would be rehearsed in the first floor Drawing Room and not the second.

"Who does she wish for us to go there?" she asked, tilting her head in the manner that did not feign her confusion.

Elizabeth, though young and receptive, could not provide an answer.

"You shall see." She smiled, before going back to her porridge.

* * *

"Oh, I cannot stand the suspension!" cried Elizabeth, wholeheartedly frightened.

It has been no an hour since they were released from breakfast and they we presently standing in the Drawing Room in which their Mistress told them to meet her.

Hermione turned an assessed her friend, finding her sudden inability to conceal and control her fright rather strange. Although, she was also nervous about the day's becoming celebrations.

The girl's stood with their backs drawn to the wall. The classroom in which they stood was filled with memorabilia, residual reminders of the previous residence and their atrocious taste in furniture and boring display of flattery. Unlike the others we have been addressed by their teachers, they stood watch with twenty other girls of various ages as they waited patiently for their Mistress to arrive and begin their lessons in the art of walking. Hermione could not hardly contain her increasingly troublesome excitement. She exceeded in everything, but nothing more than the art of walking with one's head held up and shoulders held back. Painful to the sound, it taught young girls to walk properly whilst aligning their backs to perfect straightness.

"Sush," Hermione murmured sternly. "It is not like we are in trouble."

"Says you," a girl on her left said. "You are never in trouble. You were even given leniency for running away!"

"I did not _run away_ ," hissed the curly-haired girl. "Besides, if I remember correctly, you were a part of the group fawning over my absence."

"I did not fawn!"

"It is alright to admit that you were worried, Aurora. I will not think any less of you if you did."

In that moment, the tall girl with red hair brought Hermione into a deep hug. Indeed, she was terrified. They all were. It did not take a genius to figure that one out. Although, there were still many who loathed her presence because of the difference between them, some like Elizabeth and Aurora were profoundly keen on expressing their relief once she had been found.

After speaking to Ms. Cole for quite some time, they left her sanctuary and sealed the room up. With the promise of never taking away one of the few things that made her happy, her Mistress allowed her to continue to use the room on one condition- that she never pull such an act on the Orphanage again. She had been scared beyond her years, and It was a promise that she was all too willing to keep.

Once the promise had been made, an audience of all the residence of the orphanage was put into place. Hermione was escorted to the drawing room on the first floor, the students in her year had been brought there prior to her arrival, and Ms. Cole addressed them. Darren and everyone else got a stern talking to. Hermione was pleased to know that they knew what they did wrong and needn't have to worry about a repeat of the incident. With that solely in place, she was finally able to let of not only the incident that occurred that day, but some of the more truly unpleasant ones that the orphans had conspired together.

Three days have passed, and now it was a long forgotten memory. It remained the topic amongst the younger orphans because they did not understand exactly the consequences, nor did they wish to see it happen again. They were frightened, a normal reaction to anything that all could relate to. Hermione did not mean to cause such a negative outcome, so she felt terribly apologetic for their repeated questions and woes. Ms. Cole advised her that it was not entirely her fault and she should no worry any further. Another promise between them was made, thus bringing them back to the present time.

Aurora released her from her embrace and stared at her through a thin layer of tears. "I beg you, never do that again!"

"I will not," she sighed, her voice weakened by her peer's emotional turmoil.

"Promise us!" begged Elizabeth. She was the only person that knew about the promises she has made with Ms. Cole.

Hermione giggled. "Oh, alright. I promise you both to never desert you."

"You better," Aurora mumbled into the crook of her neck. "I would not forgive you again if you did."

She rubbed the girl's back, soothingly. The curly-haired girl knew very well that the girl in her arm could hold some atrocious grudged. She still has not forgiven Darren for what he did to her. He was such an awful little boy. She could not understand why anyone would want to adopt him, not that she was any better. Little interest came to her, and there was always something that ruined her chanced of finding a family. Her magic was the bane of her existence and if there was a way to get rid of it, she would. A very small part of her wished that. The rest of her had grown to accept the difference in herself and the gift as her Mistress sometimes calls it.

"Oh, Aurora. Please cease your disgraceful ceremony." A girl with long braids hissed on the other end of the line. Her hazel eyes drifted over to them. As expressive as they were, she too had been worried. "Ms. Cole shall be coming soon and we should not be talking. Do you want to get into trouble twice in one day?"

Aurora blushed, glaring daggers at her. "Why, I never!"

" _Silence!_ "

"How dare you!"

"I would not have to dare if you knew how to keep your mouth shut!"

Aurora snarled at her. "Why you…"

As soon as the word was uttered, the door to their classroom opened and in stepped their Mistress. The girls immediately retreated back into formation. Aurora glared emotionlessly at the girl who disrespected her as Hermione tried desperately to calm her down. With a shove into her arm, she huffed and forced her expression into Ms. Cole regarded them each coolly, passing before them and scrutinizing their dresses, assessing their posture and pose. Her green eyes bore into them as she slowed her pace, stopping in the exact middle of the line of girls before her. Turning so she faced them, she gave them a rare smile.

"Good Morning, girls."

"Good morning, Ms. Cole."

"I trust you all slept pleasantly last night?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

They nodded in unison. "Yes, ma'am."

With a smile, she said," Excellent," before drawing back to her usual emotionless tone and demeanor. "Now, we can begin."

Ms. Cole strolled before them, instructing on their day's schedule. As always, lessons begin with the correct formation, the proper greeting quickly followed by displaying a graceful curtsey that left their knees shaky and their back aching. Soon after that was accomplished, their real lessons began.

As soon as they were able to perform the basic of what she had shown them at their earliest convenient ages, she set to teach them individually.

"Oh, these blasted exercises!" hissed one of the girls as she struggled to keep the book upon her head from falling. As she took her next step, her biggest fear had come true and she had to start right back over again. With a disgruntled sigh, Olivia grabbed the book from the floor and stomped over to the other side of the room and proceeded to practice her entrance into the room.

Someone giggled behind her hand. "Poor, Olivia. Can't even stand on her own two feet, much less walk in them."

"Do you want to try in my stead?" hissed the girl with straight blonde hair. With an amused shake of her head, the girl huffed again and murmured," Good. Now, go back to your own business and leave me alone."

"But your struggle is my business, dear girl!"

"I behoove you to find another and stop this nonsense!" she shrieked, once again causing her book to fall from her head.

The girl whom she was arguing with giggled even harder. "I do believe that it is not you inability to walk properly, but your ability to keep your temper in check. I would watch it if I were you, Olivia. Boys do not find feistiness a valuable trait and would no doubt look down upon you if such a trait should be known."

"Like I need a boy telling me what to do."

"Yes, I do find that something hard for even you to adhere to. Pray tell me, how are you to be married if you cannot even walk properly and your temper is detestable?"

"Who says I want to marry, hmm?" asked Olivia, finding balance despite the girl's continuous attempt to sway her. "I do not find pleasure in being a Lady of some manor. I want to explore the free world and not be locked away from it."

"Ohh, adventurous!"

"The scandal!"

Olivia glared at the girl before jutting her chin upward and walking as fast as her feet would allow. The girl giggled and went back to her own business, which was sewing. As Hermione replayed the exchange before them, she could not help what these lessons were for, really. It was not like she did not enjoy them; she just did not understand the point behind torturing themselves into walking and sitting properly to knowing how to sew. Perhaps, since they were young women, that their destiny was not their own, as it was with all.

Hermione wanted more, that she knew. The walls of the Orphanage could hold them for so long before they found a way to break free. Sometime she would dream about what the future held and that if the lessons she did today mattered at all for the purposes of tomorrow. Just to appease the greater good, she liked to believe that they did, that she was not, along with the other girls, was not wasting her precious time. She could die tomorrow and show nothing but embroidery for it. There had to be more to this lifetime that she could see; she was determined to find out what that was.

Sometime during the lessons, someone let the topic that had been among the adults for weeks slip. Apparently, the Lord that owned the Orphanage was due to visit. The rumors, as they were, had been terribly exaggerated. Hermione was sure because there was no way a man that hailed from such a high status could be so cruel and willing to put so many out of work and children onto the streets. Hermione could hardly believe the scandalous whispers of the girls in her class!

By this time, Ms. Cole had come to all the girls and was about to make her rounds once more when a knock came to the door and a gruff voice bellowed from the exposed enclosure beneath it.

"Madam Cole," Mister Filch's voice rang from behind the door.

"Yes, come in." she said, annoyed. Everyone must interrupt her lessons; it has become a favorite amongst the adults and workers to find her presence when she was with her girls. "Due make it quick, Mister Filch. The girls are having a hard time concentrating as it is." She flashed them a cunning grin before departing to the door.

Mister Filch nodded at them and as soon as the doors closed, the girls went into hysteric banter.

"This lesson is absolutely atrocious!"

"I will not be able to feel my feet for days!" another coincided with grief. "Dear Hermione, what troubles you?" The same girl asked, forgetting about her poor feet for a moment to address her friend. "Are you ill?"

She shook her head. If it was not for their bickering and disgusting adverse emotion to their lessons, they would be able to hear the conversation that was being held jus outside the door.

"It is our Mistress. She appears distressed."

"Why would you say that?"

Hermione scrunched up her face, shaking her head. "I do not know. She seems upset. Hush! I cannot hear them and I must know what they speak of."

The girls ceased their movements and talk as to allow silence to prevail. As it did, they leaned toward the door, the words of their Mistress and Master coming through the thin door. They were arguing, as always. But, this argument was not like the others. Their voices were shaking, pleading, and terribly distraught; none of the girls knew not of what to make of it their distress. The words were muffled, almost to the point that not a single word could be deciphered. Fortunately, they had an ace in their ranks. Hermione was generously gifted with excellent hearing. However, even she could not come to a conclusion as to what was causing the alarm.

"Maybe they are discussing adoptions." said Olivia. "I mean, our little abode has been in the papers as of late."

"Though, not of good news, I am afraid."

Biting her lip, Olivia continued to process what they were able to hear. With a sudden thought, she turned to the only one who would have managed to learn from their cause. "Hermione, you know what they said. Their whispers have only been known to reach your ears. Pray tell us, what were they arguing about this time?"

Hermione shook her head. "I do not know. Something about a visit from their Lord, but I do not recall."

"The Lord!?" An abrupt wind swept over them, causing the girls to scramble around.

"Did you just say the Lord is coming?"

The curly-haired girl nodded. "Yes," she told them calmly. "May I ask what as you all so frantic with worry?"

Sincerely, she did not know why her insight had caused such an alarm among them. The girls stopped their antics, turned and stared at her. Hermione frown, unintentionally. All continued to stare at the naiveté of their precious friend.

"Do not tell me you have never seen the Lord." accused Aurora, grimacing unflatteringly.

"I cannot say I have. Why do you ask?"

"Hermione!" exclaimed the girl," how can you not know who our Lord is?"

She shrugged, defeated. "Enlighten me."

Shaking her head, displaying the same unnatural gawk like her fellow peers, Aurora went into explanation. "I cannot believe you do not know of our Lord. You of all people should know of him…"

"Well, I do not. So, tell me."

Hermione has never met the man, nor seen him. The eleven, going on twelve years did not allow her to do so. His presence was legendarily rare. Even some of the adult has never seen him. The only thing they had to go by was the portrait in the drawing room on the second floor. Unfortunately, they were not allowed in that room, for it was forbidden.

Aurora's jaw tightened, hiding the true anger behind her relaxed expression. "Our Lord reigns over all of the United Kingdom, Hermione. He is a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He is of one of the highest standings and we are fortunate enough to be blessed with his generous hand."

"He donates to the Orphanage?"

She nodded, before adding. "He owns the Orphanage." Then, she paused, thoughtfully. "I believe his wife, our Lady, requested that he donate to the Orphanage. Sometime during her travels in her early years grew fond of London and wanted to give back to the underprivileged."

"If they are our reigning rulers, why have I not seen, or heard of them."

"It is not my fault. Perhaps you fell asleep during the History Lesson." she quipped playfully.

"Is donating the only thing he has done for his people?" she continued, wishing to know more about their Lord.

They all nodded, enthusiastic about the topic now that their Mistress was not present. "Of course!"

"He is our finest Lord!"

"Though," one girl added," he is greatly feared."

"He has been for years, now."

"He has not gained my fancy, then." mumbled Hermione. "A ruler that has lost favor has no reason to reign."

"Hermione, you know not what you say!" one girl exclaimed, worried. "He is not a terrible man."

"If he is not a terrible man, why has he been so generous towards the Orphanage and to nothing more?" she quipped, curious to their response. She would very much like to know more about the man behind the name.

"Lord Lucius Malfoy is not a terrible man!" cried Aurora, tearing at the corners of her eyes. "Never have I heard such nonsense, such deplorable accusations. You should be ashamed of yourself, Hermione!"

"Enough of our Lord, Aurora." Sighed Olivia, defeated. "No one cares of the man, anyway. Not of his history of misfortune these last several years. He has been gaining favor, though." Aurora said, unflatteringly. "It is his young son that we should turn our focus to!"

"Oh, yes!" the girls said in synchronization.

"Yes, the young heir knows not of how many heart he has stolen!"

Olivia giggled, nudging Hermione in the shoulder. "You have never met the young Prince, 'Mione. You know not of his bearing. His presence alone is known to make girls faint upon meeting him. He stands with such rule; no doubt he will make a great ruler in the foreseeable future."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so." claimed the girl.

Evidently, with their lessons thrown to the wind, the topic of choice had grown positive reception with the girls in the classroom. Scorned by the abrupt passing, they collected themselves into one corner to address it as one adjourned civility.

Hermione had a lot to learn about the things outside her cozy little abode. Things that she wished that did not exist, and things that would bear her everlasting scars once she came to face the terrible reality of her newly found world.

* * *

Ms. Cole came back some time later to relieve them of their lesson. Although nothing was accomplished due to the girl's distraction, as they were prone to do from time to time, Hermione felt it in her best interest to brush up on some of London's most recent history. With the last of their lessons finished, the girls took it upon themselves to venture to the gardens for some much needed sunlight.

Hermione sat down, caring not of how her skirts were laid. Thankfully, no one was around to see the little act. All the other girls seemed not to care, so why on earth should she? As the sun beamed down on them and the world slowly opened up to them, her thoughts pulled away from her.

For someone to abundantly known, there was very little to go by information wise. The mere fact of not knowing who the Lord and Lady were was killing Hermione on the inside. She could not think of a better way of getting to know them than reading the old texts of her books. Elizabeth had other ideas, however.

"I do not know what good would come of it," Elizabeth said, seizing the moment to tease her about her intricacies to knowledge. "Alas, it saddens me to know that you finally do not know something, I do not see the point of wasting your time with this research."

"You would be saying that, too, if you did not know anything about the Lord's heir."

Elizabeth blushed. "Oh!"

Hermione smiled. "Think of it as a due. I do owe it to myself to at least try to gather as much as I can. The Lord and Lady are due to visit at some point, and I want to be ready when that time arrives."

"Why even bother, Minny?" frowned the girl. "Ignore the others, and do what your heart tells you. More like, what your mind insists." Elizabeth giggled.

"As I do always," she admitted with a blush.

"See, what did I tell you?"

Hermione sent her a fleeting glare before a smile formed on her lips. "Oh, I suppose you are right. For once…"

Elizabeth's expression changed from humored raillery to shock in less than a second. With a huff, she turned and uprooted the nearest floor and flung it over her shoulder.

Her friend bit her lip before nodding. "Alright, then. Go off to see what you can come up with. But, do not come to my crying because you could produce anything. Begging me will not work this time."

The curly-haired girl beamed brilliantly at her friend. To have one's support was beyond exquisite!

It was in that moment that Olivia decided to grace them with her presence.

With an unladylike sneer, she came up to them and said," Do not see why you would even bother. The Lord and Lady are distinguished, but their historical value is very little."

"Oh, leave her alone Olivia!" Elizabeth's hatred for the girl was profound, as her hatred for her was, as well. "If she wants to read to her heart's content, let her. There is no point in making a mockery of her talent."

"Who said I was making a mockery?" The girl sounded utterly confused, scared even. "Listen, I know you mean well, Hermione, but this must stop. It is not your fault you do not know a thing about the Lord and Lady. Lord forbid we actually retain something Mr. Filch teaches us in Ms. Cole's absence, but that is beside the point. What I am trying to say is that, you should tread carefully. Something are meant to stay hidden."

* * *

Hermione bit her lip as her eyes scanned the pages of the old text. As soon as the last lesson of the day was finished, she ran all the way back to her chambers, rummaged through her belongings, and produced her old History book. She was researching anything that would shine light to this 'Lord' guy that the other girls had insisted on reading. Brushing her fingertip carefully against the dark ink of the words, she began to mumble the only passage that she was able to come across during her extensive hour of research.

 _Lord and Lady Malfoy are the most prestigious idols of the eighteenth century. Hailing from two extraordinary families, the ruling couple of England met as children, which blossomed into a long resounding friendship and courtship. Throughout their younger years, the Lord and Lady grew closer, married at the tender age of sixteen and twenty, before giving birth to their first and only child. Soon after their heir's birth, their rule was tied, and their fortunate was blessed._

 _Regarded dearly by the people of England, they are the oldest family and have been known_ _to exert_ _exuberance in their earlier years until an almost fatal crime befell them. Over the years, they have proven themselves as the rightful monarchs of England. Alongside twenty-seven other ruling families, they are known to be the most ruthless of all. Many critics find no value in their rule; thus, bringing strain to fall between the Sacred Family of this time. Lord and Lady have countless enemies, but it is their actions before now that has given reign to their achievements today, no matter how disastrously unbecoming the accusations against them are._

Hermione's eyes flickered from the text to the single picture of their Lord and was not enough information to go by, but she trusted the text in her book was correct. Though, she hardly knew these two individuals, or of their worth, she felt that she ought to at least try to learn more about them. No matter how minuscule the information came.

Lucius Malfoy was a hard idol to learn about, indeed. His admission did not come across frequently at all through the numerous volumes of text that she had circled about her. She gathered up all that she could, huffing as she closed the last book when something caught her eye. Inside was an artistic endurance of the Lord and Lady Malfoy. Both posed by each other's side, their eyes drawn to focus on one another's. As she looked, she could have sworn the picture moved.

Biting back a shriek, she threw the book and scooting away from her circled refuge, her heart hammering away inside her chest.

What in the Lord's glorious name did she see?

Shaking, she stood from her spot and slowly walked over to where she had thrown the book. With tentative hands, she bent down and picked it up, miraculously finding that the page had somehow been saved. Stealing herself, Hermione flipped it over, removed her fingers from the page and stared at the picture of the Lord and Lady. They did not move. Not even an inch. Instead, their portrait looked back at each other, as it had done moments before the strange occurrence.

With a sigh, Hermione closed the book and placed it upon her desk.

There was no much that she has yet to learn, and she knew the girl's would be furious if she did not come back to them with something in relation to their Lord and Lady. It was bizarre that she did not know a single thing about them. Were their accusations true? Had she fallen asleep during their lesson? She figured that she did because she remembered not a single word of it.

Usually, she was more enthusiastic about learning. Unfortunately, something had taken that little heaven away from her. Lacing her fingers through her curly hair, she pondered the best route to take from here.

She could not go back to the girls. It was late, and supper was not due to be served for another two hours. The children were forbidden to be running around the halls and sneaking into rooms without permission. With that in place, it let Hermione's mind wonder for a while. When she did, she inclined her head to the right and listened.

In the distance, she could hear the faint whisper of her Mistress as she hurried over to her chamber doors and pressed her ear against the cold surface.

Biting her lip once again in hesitation, she made up her mind and followed the voices. But, as she reached the doors, her instinct told her not to proceed. Her hand fell from the handle, leaving her rethink her situation.

Her mind very much liked to play tricks on her, and it was up to Hermione to figure when to listen to the voices that sounded inside her head.

Night came fast, but the turmoil of her mind did not cease.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope the change in the year wasn't all too displeasing; I could not relate factual events with what would coincide with the plot. Forgive me. I am not familiar with the 1500's, anyway. However, I will do my best to align the plot of this story with the documentary it is based off just to give it some validation.

Next 2-3 chapters will be relatively long. You will meet Lucius Malfoy in the next chapter. Madame Maxime will make another appearance. We are closing in on the first part. Please enjoy the ride!


	5. Chapter Four

_As always, enjoy._

 ** _A/N down below._**

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Four_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

Tear through the words of text

See past the comforts of old

And come to know what forbids the trance

Of unsullied consequence.

A whisper of a voice.

~*.*~

* * *

 **London, England**

 **Thursday July 5, 1742**

Hermione watched from afar. The young couple speaking to her best friend looked genuinely nice, but she felt an ever present presence of a darker force. Ever since their arrival, she was instilled with the belief that her future adoptive parents were evil. They were terrible liars, she knew. Underneath their personas was a life of deceit, gambling, with the slightest indication of abuse. They could not provide her what she needed- a family, a stable family, or even nourishment. How could they when they could barely feed themselves? Their clothes had been stolen, they had only bathed just two days prior and the woman was hiding something that even in a time like this would be frowned upon, wedded or not. Hermione wished she could reveal to them what her heart had expressed. But, it was times like this that she had to be happy for her friend, no matter the dire consequences of remaining silent.

It's been several weeks since she was told about the adoption. As much as she would like to be happy for her, she still could not get past the vexation that something may go wrong. They seemed like a lovely couple, but they were not. Call it intubation or a sixth sense, but she knew a fraud when she saw one. While Elizabeth spoke to her new mother and father, Hermione stayed within hearing distance. Clothed by the sharp corner off from the where the drawing room was, she was able to conceal herself well whilst listening on their conversation.

The woman's words were kind, the man's authoritative, but gentle. Every time they spoke, it was as if another underlying tone would break the code of their words.

"Darling, we could not wait another day to see you again."

'We honestly had nothing better to do this day. We had no choice but to see if you were alive and well. Making money off a dead child is not fashionable, unfortunately.'

What type of person would even conceal that from a child? She did not know, but she knew that she had to find a way to keep the couple away from her. Then, she could rest in peace.

Just as the conversation was drawing to an end, an odd sensation came over her. Like she was being watched from away by some wondrous force. She did not think much of it. In fact, she completely disregarded it the moment she saw Elizabeth hug her adoptive mother, the woman's grip tightened around her for the briefest of moments, as if revolted of hugging her. They pulled away and Ms. Cole, whom had chaperoned the meeting, smiled at her. She returned it before leaving her adoptive parents side. Her mother sent her a fleeting kiss before they disappeared.

Hermione smiled as Elizabeth skipped over to her. A pretty smile was playing on her lips.

"Is it not magical?"

Hermione winced at the word, but chose to not speak a single word. Her voice was musical, and she felt inexplicably drawn to the darker shade of light.

"They have asked to have tea with me later this week. How can I not agree to join them?"

"I am so happy for you, Elizabeth. Truly, I am." Hermione bit her lip as to fight back the tears that stung at the corners of her eyes. If it was one thing she was horrible at hiding her emotions would be it. Elizabeth took immediate notice, her smile falling from the grace of her lips.

"Dear Hermione. What is troubling you?"

A weak smile graced her features. "Nothing is troubling me, I assure you. I am just so incredibly happy for you." A lie, but Elizabeth seemed to believe it.

"I am sure you will find a place to call home as well, my love." Elizabeth continued to swoon over the fact that she has found hers. "And, when that day comes I will be there for you. I promise."

"You do not have to promise me anything." Hermione linked her arms with hers and she set off to their next destination. The carnations needed to be watered, and it was up to them to give them nourishment. Ladies like them were not against getting their hands a little dirty. Plus, it was quite fun to play in the mud. "I just hope that this is what is best for you."

"Best for me?" she quipped questioningly. "Why on earth would it not be?"

Elizabeth turned her head slightly and regarded the older girl carefully. While a flicker of deception did not cross her face, Hermione had a feeling that she knew of the underlying reason behind the words. Although she tried her very best to keep it a secret, it seemed as if her true thoughts had come to the light.

"You needn't worry, Hermione." She smiled sweetly. "They are good to me. I promise. I assure you that your insecurities are driven by some need to protect me, and I appreciate it. However, if I did not think they were good people, I would have told Ms. Cole and surely the agreement would have been annulled."

 _That is not what I am talking about_ , Hermione thought bitterly.

"Yes, quite right you are." Her words came out unprofessionally.

Elizabeth did not mind. "Well, not that is settled, why don't we go to the garden and see how our children are doing?"

Their children were another for flowers. A smile graced her face and the girls set off to the garden in a fit of giggles and swirl of vibrant colors.

They laid in the small field until their skirts and bodice's were stained with dirt and grass. Their hair was a mess, with twigs and other natural debris coating their once delicate curls. Mud had found refuge underneath their nailbeds, and their rosy hued cheeks were covered in a fine layer of grime. They epitomized the very idea of uncleanliness, but neither cared much for the appearance at that moment. They did not have a single individual to impress, and if they did, Ms. Cole would see to it at once that they were made presentable once again. Although frolicking in the fields was looked down upon, there was nothing much to do when it came to becoming one with the earth. Elizabeth and Hermione just felt it in their nature to break away from that bond, and find their own place.

"Is it not a lovely day?" asked Elizabeth as she leaned back and spread her arms and legs angelically. "What a fine day to enjoy basking in the sun, barricaded by flowers and reservation. There is no better way to go about the day than this, no?"

"You are so right!" cried Hermione as she laughed and joined her friend. "I cannot think of a better way to spend this day." Which was rather odd, she had to admit? She usually would stuff herself inside and read to her heart's content. But not today. She would very much like to stay where she was, reclined back against the prickly grass, her hair a complete and utter disaster, and her skin almost the same hue of the dirt- as dirty as it was, it was truly refreshing not to have to worry about one's presentation. Even for a hour or so.

"Alas, as much as I would love this day to continue, we must take our leave soon."

"Why is that?"

"You did not hear?' she gasped. "Our Lord and Lady are arriving today! Ms. Cole told my mother and father this morning. You must have been far too busy eavesdropping on my personal affairs to listen."

A blush blossomed across her cheeks. "Elizabeth, I-"

She raised a hand, demanding her silence. "It is perfectly alright, Hermione. I am not angry for what you did. Just, do not do it again."

"I will not, I promise!" she still felt incredibly guilty for invading on her privacy. Luckily for her, Elizabeth was understanding. Even more for her own good. Hermione was grateful that she was all too forgiving and that she did not lash out like normal individuals would under the same circumstance. She loved her dearly, and sometimes her gentle nature got the best of her. She did hope that she would eventually grow out of that and look at the world and the occupants more carefully.

Once the sacred vow was made, the girls ran off on their own adventures. Elizabeth was still insisting that the flowers did not have enough of water, and like any young child, the demand to rectify the problem.

Hermione stayed behind, finding reclining back against the grass a more pleasurable pastime. Her thoughts wandered, guiding her to a peaceful and serene reverie. The image of clear skies, a vast, open forest with fury little animals found production within her mind. She read somewhere about his place, but alas she could scarcely place where. All and all, it could just be a fabrication of her mind, for it was nothing like the sort of wonderment found in the real world.

Could it be magic? she wondered. No, of course not. Though, Unicorns did not exist in the present time. Have they ever? If so, where? What other creatures lurked underneath the veil of protection placed upon the world beyond?

She hoped with all of her little heart that it did exist. She did not know if she could continue to live without the possibility of some explanation to these vividly clear masterpieces. Artwork such as the Unicorn, despite not remembering the exact origin of where she heard the term, could not hope to exit with someone believing in it.

As she laid back, staring at the formation of clouds overhead, she closed her eyes, her mind conjuring the very creature from the surrounding terrain. Whilst it took shape before her behind closed eyes, she missed it as it ran away in a cloud of pearly white smoke and a little boy with grey eyes watching her creation as she conjured up another in its wake.

* * *

In the looking glass of her Pensieve, Madam Maxime could make out the frightened look that fell on the little girl's face as she collided into her. Her eyes lit up with unpronounced certainty; a childlike wonder that would grow to serve her even in the most stressful of time. Even as Maxime walked around her floating form, she could sense the source that emanated like a burning candle from within. Through the misguidance of the children that bullied her, she had grown so weak, so fragile. She could see it. Flickering as if holding onto its last bit of life. The little girl had given up. The Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic yearned to pluck the blossoming flower from the garden in which she laid. Even in the early morning, she was gorgeous and so full of life.

Magic.

Oh, yes. _Magic._

That was what was providing the natural glow that ignited from within her. Like the mystiques of the moon, it captured Madame in a hauntingly hypnotic dance.

"Madame Maxime?"

The black-haired witch turned to find one of her students standing before her. Her blue and white skirts whispering against the wooden floor of her office. The Headmistress of Beauxbatons smiled at the girl, a flurry of butterflied appearing between them.

" _Qui, mon Cherie_?" she asked in their native tongue. "What can I do for you?"

The young woman hesitated for a moment, knowing well enough that the sanctuary of her office must be upheld at all times. Maxime immediately sensed her distress, having waved her hand to put her Pensieve away back into the wall in which it was conjured from. As soon as she did, she turned her attention back to the girl, smiling, as if signaling for her to speak.

* * *

Hermione awoke to distraught voices and loud bangs. Elizabeth had come to collect her, pleading with her eyes rather than her voice that her presence had been requested at once. The entire Orphanage was in an uproar; apparently, the Lord and Lady's arrival had been entirely underestimated, and that they were arriving in the coming hour.

"Ms. Cole is displeased," cried Liza as she rushed Hermione to the kitchens to clean up. She rummaged through the drawers, producing a fine cloth before submerging it in a bowl of water. Once done, she ushered Hermione to stand in front of her so she could clean up the bits of dirt that still lingered upon her cheeks and in her hair. With a welcoming, encouraging smile, she was able to get rid of most of the dirt and was now straightening up her light blue skirts and bodice. "Here, mother gave this to me before we departed."

Elizabeth took out a small vial of lavender colored liquid. Perfume, the clever girl realized.

"Liza, I-"

"Nonsense," she snapped, practically slapping her hand away as if to tell her that her words were not welcomed by her ears. "I do not wish to hear your excuses. It is my gift to you."

"It is your gift- your mother- to you. "

"I know," she laughed, triumphant with glee. Not many can say that they made the Hermione speechless with mere words of their own. "Try it. It is very lovely and I do believe it suits you."

Hermione reluctantly agreed, spraying the light colored substance on her wrists before rubbing them together. The most sensually pleasing scent invaded her nose. Never has she smelt something so sweet, so alluringly provocative. The perfume reminded her of the first couple of days of spring, and to think that someone was able to procure the scent and captured it inside the tiny vial was magical.

"Oh, I do like this scent."

Liza beamed. "Did I not tell you?" she squealed, running her fingers through Hermione's girls. "I do think it suits you more than it does me. I wish to give it to you one day."

"Elizabeth, you cannot possibly-!"

She placed a finger on her lips and whispered," You need to stop talking." the younger girl said. "If I want to share my gift with you, then I am in the right mind to do so. Please do not argue with me, 'Mione."

Hermione stared unblinkingly at her friend, focusing on the tired gaze of the young girl as she pulled away to ring out the cloth that she used to clean her. Something about her demeanor, or perhaps the way she walked made her think that there was something else going on that she wished to tell her. But, of course, she could not. Would not, really. Stubborn as Elizabeth was, Hermione wished she trusted her enough to share her concerns. Even the smallest of thoughts, that way she could at least begin her journey that would allow her to help.

"Shall we go?" Liza asked, her voice weak.

She nodded. "Yes," Hermione linked arms with her, escorting her through the mass conundrum that surrounded them. "Why is Ms. Cole so upset?"

"The arrival of the Lord and Lady was not anticipated. I heard that she had just received their letter, and as you can imagine has made everyone anxious with excitement. We have but only a couple of hours to get everything in order."

"When were they due to arrive originally?"

"A week from now." Quipped the younger girl. "They were in town for business and decided to stop by before going back to Wiltshire to retire for the remaining weeks of summer."

"A holiday getaway?"

"Indeed, though I do not understand why they would be going home so early. Usually the travel during this time of the year, coming home only during the Fall and Winter. It is very peculiar…"

Hermione did not know much of nobles and where they spent their free time, but did sound very strange that they opted to retire home earlier than their projection time. Perhaps they had other business to attend to in other surrounding towns? She could only speculate.

The girls arrived to the third floor just in time. Ms. Cole was just arranging chores for the abled-body children, giving the older orphans the more tedious of tasks.

"I see you have to sweep the drawing room," Liza muttered. All the orphans were staring at her too.

"What is wrong?"

"Did you not hear?"

"Hear what?" she frowned.

"No one is allowed in there!" Squealed Olivia as she ceased sweeping, her least favorite of chores. "The Lord and lady are rumored to be converging in the Drawing Room on the second floor. We are forbidden to go there normally. Why Ms. Cole has given you the task to tidy it up is truly bizarre!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. The girls truly had lost their minds. With their Lord and Lady arriving at any moment, they might as well have drove themselves to utter madness. She just did not understand their anxiousness, despite never having properly met the Lord or his wife. But, as an afterthought, she could account this to be one of the many learning experiences. Maybe she would be lucky enough to actually see him. Not that she did not think she would be able to regardless of what chore she was assigned. She only had her doubts to inspire her.

"We shall see," she said, her voice cheerful. The girls looked as if they all had truly lost their minds. With her relaxed attitude, they might as well have. Hermione was just not the sort of person to fright over little details, no matter how colossal the situation may appear. Why frighten herself to death with the arrival of the Lord and Lady? Why did it have to be life dependent that they liked her or not? She just did not understand. "I will see you all later."

Hermione busied herself, knowing the girls were following her every move as she walked away from them and ventured down the stairs to the second floor.

Thoughts of what was to come plagued her. Deep down, she hoped without certainty that they did like her.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy regarded the iron gates of the Orphanage judiciously. Accompanying him was his wife, of who made a statement with her wintery white formal dress and intricately styled blonde hair. Her sparkling sapphire eyes captured his and he presented her with a mild servitude of a smile. They had traveled a long way, reappearing from the oblivious eyes of the Londoners across expanses far greater than their own imagination. It was a hefty dangerous job, and he was glad that they both made it through safe and sound.

His wife, Narcissa, was not too thrilled about the journey. He had asked her approval and swayed her into accompanying him just for the mere amusement of her company. She was a simple woman, with even simpler expressions. She truly did make the perfect companion, and he had been thrilled to know that she agreed to come along while he took care of business.

London was a pleasant place, he must admit. But, that was as far as his affection for the town would lead. He did not particularly like traveling, especially to the far reaches of the land. Frankly, he would very much rather be at home and away from the Muggle metropolis. Even his wife agreed wholeheartedly with his decision. Apparition was a still a dangerous affair, as was Portkey. Both strived to be different, and he was thankful that they had only a short distance to travel. The rest was carried out on carriage.

"Sire," the coachman said, bowing slightly as he spoke," will you be in need of service?" he asked.

Lucius waved him away. "No, we will not." He told him. "We shall return shortly. In the meantime, take the horse to be watered and fed."

"Yes, sire."

He watched him join three others. They settled themselves in, gently maneuvering his stallions to wherever the Orphanage kept their water and feed. Lucius' brows furrowed. The landscape was rather large, but in the middle of a busy street. There was no doubt in his mind that nourishment for his prized horses would have to come elsewhere. He decided to make a mental note of the occasion before turning back to his distraught wife.

"Darling, must we travel such lengths?" she asked her husband, smiling as he pulled her firmly against his body. "I do not see the reason why we had to travel all this way."

"Do you wish to rest?" Lucius much preferred to spend his hours in the privacy of their home, but he had matters to attend to. The Orphanage in which they were about to visit had become a hard burden that they did not wish to keep. Their debt has been mounting for a quite a few years, and he has found himself in the position of taking possession of the historical building and sending the employees and orphans to the streets. He cared not if they could afford to continue to pay for the expenses of running the building; all he had eyes for was the sum that the woman who was in charge of the Orphanage had instilled into his mind. The building itself was worth a great price; even the furniture may be of some value if brought to attention to the right individual. Lucius's mind worked gallantly. The children and workers were far from his mind.

Narcissa shook her head, careful to keep her balance as Lucius whispered something to the gates and stepped aside as to allow it to open.

"No," she picked herself up and sent her husband a reassuring smile. "I am perfectly fine. Thank you, my Lord.

Lucius pushed back a stubborn lock of hair and smiled.

"We shall not be long, my love." he comforted her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I am merely here to work out some sort of deal with the woman who runs the estate. The building may have been given to these people, but that does not mean I cannot take it away just as easily and I wish to see what deal can be struck with her."

Something about his words did not settle well with the woman. Just as they were about to pass through the gates, she stopped and looked questioningly at her husband.

"Why on earth would you?" she chastised. If anyone had ceased the heart of his wife, it would be the orphans. "They may have a small debt, but that does not mean you cannot just take their only home."

Lucius tightened his grip on his wife's arm. How dare she speak out of term? Did she not know whom she was dealing with? If she did, she would have chosen her words more carefully. Instead of barking at her like a mad dog, he dug his nails into her elbow and smiled as her body tensed at the horrible action.

"Do not speak to me as if I am incapable of thinking, Narcissa." He let go of her aching arm and looked down at her unpityingly. "They may own me their lives, but I will not be spoken to like that. Do you understand? Fix yourself, or be gone. I can easily send you back home to attend to the elves that you are so unnaturally fond of, if it so pleases you."

The young woman shook, but remained silent. She did not wish to anger her Lord any more than she had.

"Very good," a smile came to pass across his face. "Now, shall we?"

He held out his arm and she took it without question.

The pair strolled without a whisper for quite some time until they found themselves greeted by the doors of the Orphanage and the entire staff. As soon as they stopped, they all inclined their heads down, a greeting meant for welcoming, but one Lucius regarded as a desperate attempt to appease to his more giving nature.

Without a single word, he returned the gesture, relieving them of the foolishness.

* * *

 **A/N:** I must apologize for the late update. These past two weeks have been torturous. With that said, I am so terribly sorry and I hope you can find the heart to forgive me.

On another note, I did get a very rude review about a week ago. I know y'all are concerned about the interaction between Hermione and Draco, which will happen in the next two chapters. Be patient. That is all I can possibly say. If multi-chapter fics are not for you, then do not read them. It hurts when someone write a review like that when they know full well it will take a bit longer for an interaction between two characters to occur. I am thankful for the supporters of this fic, but it is a review like the one that I got that make writing a bit of a nuisance. It is not as enjoyable, knowing that someone is not completely happy with teh result of the fic thus far. Be Patient. Please. For me. Dramione will occur. Y'all just need to trust me.

On a lighter note- Another update will come on 6/9, followed by another on 6/12. They will be exceptionally long, and will only get longer from here on out. We are coming to the end of part one, however. Which will be followed by a time skip about three or so years into the future with Hermione around 15 and Draco 17.

Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. I will edit it some time tomorrow, as well as the last three.

Love you!


	6. Chapter Five

**_A/N down below_**

 _As always, enjoy_

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Five_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

Drawn to the light of sacred glass

A captive rose kept in hand

Found by a heart so pure

Though existence bane,

Captivation is found.

~*.*~

* * *

 **London, England**

 **Thursday July 5, 1742**

Lucius entered the Orphanage with a darkened expression. It was not every day that he ventured into Muggle London, and certainly would not be the last. At least it would not for long. He knew that his family was restless and that they had spent more than adequate time within the confines of the town to satisfy the needs of their holiday for years to come and that the arrangement was closing to an end. With this little transaction, he planned to steal the Orphanage back with all its benefits by night fall and have his family well rested before their departure early tomorrow morning. If everything went accordingly, he hoped, he would be able to sell the building for twice its fortune.

He cared not of the orphans, the employees, the lives that were pending to put into the arms of the streets. His eyes were solely on the currency that the building was still worth. Expenses these days, the lavish parties, the kissing arses, and everything he has done thus far, he was desperate for a boost in finances, even if that meant taking back something he generously gave to the town all those years ago.

Things have changed; he has changed.

If anything was certain, Lucius could bet that his viewpoint of the world, the cruelty of it, was defiantly present. Persistently taunting, even to someone who believed he deserved far more than what he has been giving thus far. That is why it was so important to get the Orphanage. He would be able to reap the benefits of not just that, but the hidden troves of treasures he has left inside. Perhaps then the curse that has settled upon them would be lifted. That damned enchantress would no doubt be satisfied, or so he thought.

Large cerulean eyes stared at the expanse that was laid out before her. The moment that had been delivered to them was upon them as they were promptly greeted by a production of individuals and escorted through the large, wooden door. Narcissa Malfoy continued to conceal her mounting woes. A little hand held onto hers with everything they had. Whilst her Lord greeted the employees of the Orphanage, she was left to her own destructive thoughts, and the concern of her child.

For months she has felt this strange, unexplained hand. Although she could not place it then, it was in this very moment, walking through the short corridors and into the first floor drawing room where they were asked to meet the mistress of the orphanage, she knew that she would find out the identity of the phenomenon.

It was not as a strange occurrence, noting who she was and what her clean blood represented. She was gifted with many talents, one of which a six sense that allowed her to reach into the void of the unknown. It would be very strange not to have an extraordinary gift in the supernatural form, especially with her background.

Narcissa was a Pureblood woman, of course. Promised and married to one of the most well-known men of their generation. They were a part of the Sacred Twenty-eight, a highly prestigious group of individuals that rules the surrounding land. Even the name _Malfoy_ evokes some sense of dread, almost calming allure. As the wife of a Malfoy, it has become her duty to act a certain way, and give up certain ideals all to please her Lord. Wealth, blood, status, all the things that ought to matter to her just did not occur once to be nothing more than the hideous notions of those who believe Purebloods was God's answer to everything. A part of her cared deeply, having been conditioned throughout her childhood, another did not.

Her heart gave out on her.

She could not bear this sense of foreboding. Whatever doom that was nearing them had already come. Narcissa squeezed her son's hand but said nothing. He was able to sense any sudden change in her. A reassuring smile was flashed, and he instantly calmed as well.

Her child was her world, her boundless escape. If anything were to happen to the only heir, she did not know what she would do.

Secretly depressed, the Lady followed obediently behind Lucius has he made a statement by arriving as he did. His eyes combing every corner, person, and object; nothing was out of his scrutiny. Every now and then he would mutter under his breath along the lines of 'Filthy Muggles', or 'Horrid little creatures'. Narcissa paid him no mind, her own expression hard, and her elegant eyebrow quirked.

She had to agree with him, however. Despite their early arrival, one would think they would gain from sweeping more and wiping down antiques.

A loud 'bang' exploded from somewhere down the hall. Children of all ages came rushing towards them and she had to brace herself with a hand upon her breast, her breathing coming in uneven pants.

Goodness, these children were loud!

A pandemonium of commotion grew to a crescendo after that. She winced. She was not quite used to such loud noises, the hurry of the afternoon day. Even though her schedule was always hectic due to her role with her husband and statues, she always made a point that calmness was imperative to everything and anything that she did. The Lady if the Malfoy estate did not believe in the perception of disaster, especially when said disaster could always be prevented by the means of always being prepared and mindful.

As her son's grip on her hand tightened, so did the muscles in her jaw. Though her Lord's presence prevented her from speaking, he could not control her thoughts or her inquisitiveness. Even the little details had eluded her.

"Mother," her son asked out of nowhere," must I stay with you?"

"Of course, Darling." Narcissa smiled down at him. "Where on earth would you go?"

Her son's eyes trailed longingly at the children that scurried past them. There was a glint of want in those beautifully tragic gray eyes, something that she just could not grant him. Not since the day he had been changed, she could not risk someone being conflicted by the same mark that has touched his skin. Narcissa was incredibly protective of him, as her husband was as well. Just thinking of the sort of horrible outcome that can come of contact was enough for her to finalize her words, her voice never meaning to sound harsh.

She pursed her lips. "I see." Narcissa motioned him to stop and she knelt down, spraying her skirts around her. "We cannot allow it, my love. I am so terribly sorry. You know the rules."

The look in his eyes was more than she could handle.

If not for the rules, or his mother, he would never listen. It was in his eyes that made her heart swell phenomenally. She lived for him as he lived for her. And, it was that moment that her husband chose to disrupt them.

"What does the boy want, dear? Can you not see were are on a time limit?"

Narcissa looked between their son and her Lord. "I am terribly sorry, my Lord! He only wished to have a moment of my time before we were introduced to the Mistress of the Orphanage."

Lucius quirked an elegant eyebrow before turning his attention to their son. "Is that true, son? You wished to speak to your mother in private?"

He nodded.

"Very well." Malfoy all but said sharply. "You may speak to her if you so wish. I ought to speak to the employees of this building. Filth everywhere, children running about without addressing either of us. No wonder no one has visited to gander at the children. How can they in this mess?"

"Lucius, please." Narcissa begged him. Her eyes sparkled in the same fashion that he has come to love, and her voice was all but sweet liquid honest. Smooth, enticing. No wonder it was not hard for his features to soften and his voice to shake.

"My darling, tis but an observation."

"Observation or not, it is incredibly rude for you to say such things in front of children. Have we not taught our son better than to belittle people in such a way? If not for the children here, then at lease for Draco."

"I would have to agree with Lady Malfoy on this one, Master Lucius," came an older, strained voice. A voice that was restricted by the regulations of their independent statues. Rules that made it nearly impossible to express cruelty in words, but did not prevent her entirely to keep her thoughts where they were more appropriate- to herself. "As for the accommodations, I am very sorry that you do not find the arrangements to your taste. Perhaps, there is a more suitable location that you wish to convene to? The Drawing Room on the third floor has always been the least favorite among the children, and I do know for certain that no one will tempt us with distractions there."

Lucius removed his steady gaze away from his family, and to the heated stare of the mistress of the orphanage.

"Ms. Cole, presumably?" he asked, not at all smitten by her lack of respect, choice of dress, and at the very least tone of voice. "I am afraid you got the wrong impression of me. Allow me to make it up to you." He smiled pleasantly.

Ms. Cole did not submit to his charm at all. Instead, she tilted her head as if she did not hear a word he said and carried on in a way that made it seem that she never even seen him.

Eyes darkening, pulse quickening, Lucius stared at the grey-haired woman for some time before motioning for his wife and son to follow after him.

Like a clap of thunder, they ventured down the corridor after the mistress to whom the children seemed to fear.

Ms. Cole knew all too well the sort of expression that Lord Lucius was making to the back of her head but chose to ignore. Childish, she would think. Certainly caused by her rude suggestive tone.

It hardly concerned her if Lord Lucius did not want to extend the same gracious gesture that they have extended to him. Thus far, their welcoming has not been any less that satisfactory, in her humble opinion. The children have no made a scene, not spoken out of term. Not a single stain coated the pristine wooden floor in which they walked on. Everything was clean, or was being attended to by one of the employees or an older child. She knew of several who have busied themselves in order to appeal to their Lord and Lady's greater sensibilities.

A sudden thought did come to mind.

Perhaps it was not entirely her fault after all. Recalling the conversation with Mr. Filch not two days prior, she recovered that a letter had been given to her stating their early arrival to the Orphanage.

 _From the front window, Ms. Cole could see everything. Almost every corner street venders, produce shops, and supply stores were available to her eyes. In the distance, the sun hung lazily in the air, suspended by a single thread. The Mistress of the Orphanage exhaled deeply. It was in these moments that she wished that she had a better control on her emotions. Though, she could care less if the other's saw her in such a state, she could not afford to allow her precious students and children see her so distraught._

 _Ms. Cole excused herself from the window and walked back toward her desk._

 _"What do you wish for me to do?" Mr. Filch asked, his voice shaking a bit._

 _Ms. Cole was startled out of her thoughts and immediately turned to look at him. "What we can do, I suppose. It is not like we can leave the Lord and Lady waiting." She stood, careful to walk over to the window without having a drastic meltdown. "You shall send a letter to the estate that they are presumably staying at. If all goes well, we will be able to receive them by the end of this week, if not sooner if they choose to take us on our offer."_

Oh, yes. That had been prior to the arrival of Lord Lucius' letter. Inside, they learned of his voyage from some far off country. He had arrived without warning, without so much as a letter in several weeks' advancement. This little indiscretion certainly had everyone on edge, seeing that the Orphanage was not only being looked at potential parents of the orphans, but owners of small business and companies. She could not retain just how many have come to inquire about the building, how many she has sent away before any of the children found out about their presence.

The last thing she wanted was for them to know.

The Orphanage would be their last home if she could not convince Lord Malfoy of thinking over the clause. A six-month renewal on their agreement would be an answer to her prayers. If only he would listen to what she had to say.

The terribly frightened face of the little boy did not come unnoticed, either. Something told the old woman that this journey had taken a particular toll on him. She wondered briefly if he would fare well with the children. At least until they were done discussing the future of the establishment.

"Lady Narcissa," she looked over her shoulder, and as a show of respect, she slowed her pace and walked alongside her reigning mistress. "I must say, you have a darling little boy. Perhaps it would be best if he met the children?"

"He does not play well with others."

"I am only-"

Narcissa stopped abruptly, causing Ms. Cole to walk several steps ahead, stop and turn.

"Forgive me, but I stand by my statement. Draco does not play well with others."

"Has he not known human interaction?" she asked her voice soft, low, and questioning. Surely a boy his age had friends, companions?

One would think that, but…

"Perhaps," she begin, a courteous smile springing to her lips," the gardens would be more suitable for you, yes? A rose exhibit has been installed recently by a charitable donation provided by the residents of London."

Just like a crowned rose encrusted with thorns, Lucius's eyes darkened into a threatening hue of macadam.

* * *

Hermione had braced herself long before the old wooden door came into view. Its ancient knobs staring angrily at her as if any second they would turn and something would come out and strike her. Hermione stood in front of the infamous drawing room, the room where the children would see someone go in, but rarely see come back out. In fact, every time they did, they would always either be crying and their cheeks flushed with the brightest shade of red they've ever seen. It's safe to say that anyone who went in never come out unscathed or without tears. That was guaranteed by Ms. Cole.

Fortunately for Hermione, she's never been disciplined in that atrocious way. She knew how to act, how to talk to an adult, and everything else that was expected of them. The other's tried to warn her, some pleading with her to not go. However, she did not heed their warning, or listen to their heart's secret content. She knew not of the consequences of venturing in the forbidden room that the Lord and Lady were said to convene, and she did not care.

"You must not go there!" the younger children had begged her. Their voices had been drowned out by her own stubbornness and her penchant to form a task to the very last detail.

While she still hugged the cleaning supplies given to her tightly against her chest, she was by no means scared. Even if she was, she had buried that down deep before arriving to the room. Show fear, and anything you are facing can smell it. What a philosophy to abide by.

Taking a deep breath, she centered herself the same way she has been doing for the last several years.

 _There was nothing to be afraid of._

If that was true, then why did she feel so uncertain?

Hermione bit her lip, her knees trembling slightly from underneath her skirts. Though brave as she was, having faced the hatred of so many people, she felt relatively calm. Frightened, but calm. She knew she could to it. This mantra played in her mind as she found the courage to open the door and venture into the forbidden.

As she suspected, there was no light. Nothing had penetrated the natural darkness that seemed to circulate that a revolving mirror of glittered smoke. As she squinted her eyes, she could just make out the landmarks of the drawing room. A large chandelier with an estimated fifty candle holders hung above her, a fireplace marking the middle of the east side of the large room. Several chairs were placed strategically along the walls, as well as several small tables meant to keep a book or two safe. In the center of the room was a large sofa. Its white pelt covered in various spots. Red walls with golden enhances embraced her; she spun around, trying to take in the entirety of the room the best she could with so little available light.

Taking to her instincts, she found and lit several candles, placing them back alongside the small tea tables and any other place that she felt needed an extra flash of light. Her eyes travelled attentively around the room. Now, she was able to _see_.

On the west side stood a small library, related more towards the adults she suspected. Two levels made out the makeshift paradise, and surprisingly that was all to it. No elaborate design, no flashing array of lights, or flickering presentation. Books were all she was worth, and more. But, something about them just did not provide her with the same, familiar feeling of possessive belonging.

As Hermione's eyes lost their light, she turned on her heel and busied herself with cleaning. She gravitated towards where a large mirror sat above the mantle. Though far too small to reach up and clean it properly, Hermione made use of her supplies. Only equipped with a dirty duster with a rag on its end, some water, and a broom, she set out to accomplish more than anyone would ever think possible. Even with the misbehaving deities that followed her.

"Stop that," she ordered, watching one of the small creatures that she had found lurking in the gardens poke its head inside a vase.

A swarm of five fairies fluttered over to her, each of them giggling to the sound of their own amusement. One thing was for certain. They hardly came across someone who could see them, let alone someone who would allow their exceptional needs for exploration to flow away from their own environment. Hermione adored them, as they have come to adore her. Granted, there was a language barrier, but little by little they have been able to move past that and develop their own sense of communication through gestures and eye movements. Tones and sounds, colors and foolery, nothing was out of bounds.

 _Fairies_.

That was what she deemed them.

It had occurred to her sometime after their first meeting when an old woman walked through the back gardens of the Orphanage, when the wooden fence had yet to be put up. She remembered her clear as day, too…

White hair, eyes that pierced the soul. It was no wonder that the woman had found joy out of talking to her, though Hermione could hardly stand the thought of the old woman coming to the end of her days. She did not pity her; she pitied they idea that she was not able to live a life that would have truly made her happy.

Hermione was smitten with inquisitiveness to even bother with her impudence. She had asked the strangest questions, inquired about things that ought to be left untouched. Topics that served her no purpose whatsoever since the individuals in question were simply not with her. How could the woman know that, though? To inquire then correctly state something about her life that even she could hardly believe sometimes?

The old woman was entirely strange, though. It has been some years since she's seen her. She didn't know how she faired now, if she faired anything at this point in time. Wherever she maybe now was unbeknownst to her, but she hoped that she traveled the last remaining steps towards the path she wanted to take. She had asked the most heart-stopping questions, and when it did come time for her to depart, she muttered something intelligible under her breath and carried on down the path towards the forest.

 _Has anything ever happened that you could not explain_? Came the old woman's voice like a soundless melody from the past.

Well, yes. Loads of times. However, that was not the lesson she wanted her to learn.

Even now the question eluded her, especially the one that came after it.

 _You are destined for a great many of things, girl. Out there is your true calling. Bound by magic, hearts so true. He will come for you. A soul to claim._

Right after she muttered those words, a brilliant light lit up around them and she was gone. Never to be seen again.

Much like before, a light did indeed ignite around her, and it was not because of a strange occurrence on heeding words.

It came from the door in which stood an image she has never seen.

As it had done then, the light morphed tragically into a depleting figure. A flower, she had concluded. Crimson with thorns and swollen with life until the woman waved a hand over the bud, it withered, leaving behind a scattering array of petals and broken thorns. Its steam, once sturdy and true, had bent at an odd angle, forcing the flower to bow its head in eternal servitude.

Much like the one she remembered in her most venturous dreams.

The fairies scattered like darkness did that the brink of dawn, leaving Hermione behind to stand her ground, her eyes glistening with pure fascination as she stared at the object lying on the floor. She walked closer,

It was a book.

Encased in glass on its cover was a single rose.

* * *

True to the Orphanage's mistress, the gardens were a sight to behold. Various foliage followed suit behind them as they strolled around the stoned pathway leading away from the building and to a beautiful covering. That too was decorated in the children of summer. Narcissa was truly pleased and blessed with unbinding emotion. She only wished that her husband would find it in his cold heart to allow them to keep the sanctuary that they have been able to create for the children.

"Ms. Cole," her husband's voice broke through the peaceful surrounding. "I do not think it is appropriate to bring us out here, especially under the circumstances that have brought us together."

"I beg your pardon?" she gasped, astonished.

"You are distracting us from our true reason of seeking each other's company."

"Company you have sought out under last minute pretense, my Lord," reminded the older woman gravely. "Need I remind you that it was not my decision to have this meeting this day? I planned on sending you a letter before today. Unfortunately, you beaten me to it and requested my presence at the last minute."

"Was my arrival that much a strain on your precious Orphanage?"

"If I may be so bold, then, yes. Your arrival came as a surprise to us all. No one knew of your current situation, or the time you have spent in London. If it was not for the adoptions, I would not have bothered."

Lucius let out a horrid sound that resembled that of a bear. This threat did not deter Ms. Cole. In fact, it seemed to spur her on.

Of course she knew that he did not care about the children. Any fool had to be blind or dumb to see and under that. She had only been looking out for the children. Their best interest was always at heart, no matter how strict and insanely smitten she was with their education, their progression through the stages that are entitled to. She would not bother with him if the situation was not as detrimental to their survival; she needed him to understand, needed him to see the beauty in a world that he used to be so fond of. Ms. Cole did not know what happened so many years ago, but she was assured that he was only looking out for his family. Even so, he need not be so cruel with other's just to ensure the survival of his family when so many others were struggling with the simplicity of nourishment and shelter.

How can someone with so much already be so cruel as to take something from a child with nothing. A single hand that held nothing more than the earth in which they walked upon, was he really about to take away the only thing that had left?

* * *

 **A/N** : I apologize for the late update and short chapter. I'm going back today to clean all five of them up. Updates will be posted tomorrow. Don't know when. Stayed home today. Was not feeling like going to school, plus I'm catching a bit of a cold -.- It's summer, alright. I can escape the clutched of winter, but not the clutches of summer.

Anyway, next two chapters will be long. If I don't add anything to the previous five chapters, then everything should be fine.

Talk to y'all soon.

-Carolare Scarletus


	7. Chapter Six

**_A/N down below_**

 _As always, enjoy._

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Six_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

A tale of two

Coming together by fate's untrained hand;

One being a flower

The other being the captor

Beauty meets beast.

~*.*~

* * *

 **London, England**

 **Thursday July 5, 1742**

There was an old tragedy that their mistress used to tell them at night. A story that involved a girl of the most beautiful of sort, and a beast that was too hideous to be given a name. They came from two different worlds, but were drawn together as fate's guidance. The girl, a simple, yet truthful of bearing souls, and a man that had been stripped of everything that used to be worth grieving. Through the tale, as she had gathered when she was nothing more than five years old, was that the beast was not the most pleasant creature to be around, and it took the kindness of one girl to change him, thus giving him back the beauty that had been taken from him through mistaken ignorance.

The man fell instantly in love with her. By her naturalness, her pureness and poise. But it was not the kind of love that the captor of his beauty wanted him to claim. He loved her on the notion that anyone could be loved, and not because of who and what she was and has grown to be. Instead, this feigned love grew until one day the true nature of his curse came into the light of a single rose, which was on its last blossom. The girl was beyond herself; she didn't know what to think of the beast after such a tragedy was revealed to her. Had she been plucked just like the flower for the sole purpose of being replanted, or was she destined to be held captive and wither away as all the others? Soon after this discovery, the girl became ill and all hope appeared to be lost.

The beast, fearing for the girl's departure, for she was more than just a pawn to regain what was lost to him, went to the drifting soul that had taken his treasures and demanded that that the girl remained protected, watched over.

Of course the deceased witch refused, knowing what the beast was trying to accomplish by asking such a thing from her. To run away from true destiny made the coward. And it would be entirely selfish of him to even consider demanding such a thing. What she did not foresee the underlying agenda of the beast for his next words shocked and amazed her.

He asked to use his last petal to save her from her fate.

And it was through this selfish act that saved the beauty but destroyed the beast.

But, that was not what she remembered from the tale.

The story started innocently enough. A little girl about her age, who was fond of the world around her much like she was and holding a secret too good to be true. The secret was never revealed; surely, though, it would have been obvious but it had not. The girl was an enigma and so was the item that seamlessly fell from another world and revealed itself to her.

So, when she saw the rose, she did not remember just the story, but what the story represented within the pages of the narrative.

Hermione looked at it with trepidation. For something so fragile, so small, it appeared to her to be so fiercely powerful and strong. She could not tear her eyes away from the pretty flower. As she stepped closer, the bottoms of her best dress shoes scarping noisily against the wooden floor, the flower responded and slowly opened up for her.

Its petals were small, delicate and smooth. Even in the magnified encasement of the glass, she could see every little detail. Tiny veins wrapped around it in suspended dance; as her eyes lingered on the crimson skin, she saw that miniscule orbs of sparkled dust were revolving around the blossom, providing the most well-placed illusion of displaced light puncturing through the thin layer of glass whilst protecting the encased flower. Hermione was immediately drawn to this wonderment, as she has never seen something to magnificently beautiful that it shocked her and brought an abnormal palpitation to her heart. A cold hand reached out to her, and she shiver involuntarily.

She stared at the lovely bud, admiring its delicate attributes. Wishing almost silently that it would reveal its secrets. Alas, it did not. For something so haunting tragic, nothing good could come of it as long as it existed.

Although nothing more than aged pages of a book, Hermione felt a connection that she could not say she has ever felt. For a beauty was always drawn to a flower in the same enchanted making.

As she sat down, the blossom fluttered, her fingers brushing against the petals as she drew it from the cover of the tome.

* * *

For quite some time they stared at each other. Neither of them seemed to move, or appeared to be breathing at all for that matter. Acting on the shared anger that had planted within them during the first few minutes of their introduction, both Lord Lucius and Ms. Cole stood with static expressions that matched that of the darkened entrance to the underworld. Both were fuming but neither of them had the audacity to act upon the truest form of the macabre. As the air around them sudden dropped, it was up to the lady of their hearts to appease the tension and send her son away as to allow them to all talk in a more reasonable expression.

"You must refuge somewhere in the building," Narcissa told her son. "It is not safe for you here."

"Where must I go?"

"Anywhere but here," she sighed, at her point of foolish annoyance with her husband and the Mistress. "Mazy will accompany unannounced. Once you are safe in the library and I have sorted out this mess I will come and find you."

"I do not wish to have Mazy accompany me. I want Dobby."

She smiled fondly at him. Of course he would want the little elf that has been his companion since he was but a newborn. Mazy was one of the few House Elves they owned, but she did not come close to the rightful position that Dobby has been able to earn for himself.

"Very well, my child." she breathed. "Your wish is but my command."

As the elf was summoned, her son's eyes lit up with astonishment.

Draco was a very gifted boy. So much so that he astounded everyone that came in contact with. His magical ability was superb; it was to be expected of an offspring of two excellently qualified Purebloods. Anything else would bring shame to the newly developed family, reaching back across generations on both sides of the ancestral spectrum. But, that was not why she loved her son and why she felt the immoderate need to protect him. It was what lied within him that was the deadliest secret of all.

He was indeed hostile in a sense. And it was for that very reason that she had to keep him from harm's way. She trusted the little elf, so much so that he allowed him to play escort wherever her little boy ventured off to. This time, however, she needed his absolute word that he would make sure to watch and him and keep him safe.

Once Dobby appeared she was able to let out a sigh of relief. The scrawny little thing always brought warranted happiness to her son and it was so good to see him in such high spirits especially after the true reason of travelling all the way to London on such short notice. A call to a family friend had been in need, and Lucius want not take no for an answer. After countless weeks, they were able to be spared the time for their dear friend to see them. Unfortunately, the cause of their journey was of a lighter note. The scene before her was not.

Severus Snape was his Godfather, a man of many experiences years of Potion making and Dark Arts. It was his years of study that they found themselves drawn to his intellect and insight, for he knew of their son's uncanny dilemma. He had been administering the potion's for almost ten years, keeping what lied beneath the surface at bay and locked up. However, she could see that the potion's that have been given to him faltering right before her, and it took a lot of self-control to remain calm. If he sensed that she was not, it could prove disastrous in time.

It was best to send him a way for a while as to allow her to sort out the mess her husband unknowingly placed themselves in.

All for protecting their son, she assured herself.

"Mother," her boy said, inviting her attention back to him. "May I go?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, you may."

With a wave of her hand, Dobby was placed under a veil of transparent deception, while her son was given a veil of protection.

Narcissa watched as her son walked away, through the garden and back into the safety of the building that her husband was so determined to take.

Narcissa gave the landscape one last sweep of her eyes before drawing her attention back to the play before her.

The Mistress' inner thoughts were absolutely right. How can one man be so cruel as to allow so many orphans be thrown to the streets? She knew not the answer, but the events that led up for such cruelty to conjure.

She knew that night all too well not to dwell on it too long lest she forget where she was and break down in unadulterated sadness.

Her own son had almost been taken from her, marked with illness, a curse, and plague that came with the new and full moon each month. How unbearable it was to witness! How corrupt the souls of misfortune to be locked away from civilization for six nights of a months all to set the beast that resided within to rest. Oh, she could no longer let her heart break from worrying; she let the dam of her sorrow wash away with the uncertainties that she has faced thus far.

For her heart did go out to them. To have to watch such a young child such as theirs suffer at the hands of some unmerciful being; she could not bring herself to even see the end of that image. It was all too heartbreaking for her to bear and if she did not stop, she would indeed find herself in a place that she could not run away from.

Narcissa threw her attention to her Lord, whom taken it upon himself to reprimand the Mistress of the Orphanage and all that she was worth. She could not hear the words that so generously spewed from his ungrateful mouth until she rose herself from the ground and hurried over to the canopy to whence they conjured.

Ms. Cole looked him dead in the eye with a naturally trained expression. Her lips were pursed in the same fashion as they had been during the early day of their encounter, and her stance was remarkable stable for someone as old and feeble as her. It was in her eyes that Narcissa found a spark of revolution; the woman was strong and would not put up with her husband ludicrous nonsense any longer. The spark grew exceedingly fast until it burst from her eyes and Lucius took a daring step back, grounding himself as Ms. Cole erupted like a fully mature firework.

This was the image she foresaw before the spark ignited. A fortune for what was to come through the eyes of her magic, she could see the outcome before it even arrived.

"You have taken care of the land as I have asked," he told her with a pleased grin. "I must say, I was greatly surprised by how well you have kept the land in my absence."

"Yes, well, we have you to partly to thank. The children love their home and would do anything to keep it attended to."

"Nonsense," he chuckled lightly. "I merely keep up with the expenses and send gifts when it so pleased me."

"And the children cannot be anymore thankful!"

"Speaking of the children, I have not heard them all day."

"They have been told to stay out of the way." Ms. Cole squared her shoulders importantly as Lord Lucius came to inspect the newly painted gazebo. A single finger touched the wooden frame, his eyes inspecting it as if to find a speck of dirt on his digit. He found none. "Shall we retire to the drawing room? I must say that-"

"You shall not bother yourself with such a menial task." he said sharply.

Ms. Cole looked up and found Lord Lucius looking at the building with enrichened greed. She drew a breath in and continued to stare at him with unmarked awe.

"W-why, I w-was merely."

"I am saying that we both know that neither of us want to speak in front of the presence of the children. You do know why I have sought out your attendance, yes? It is about the arrangement we made during the renovations of this estate."

"Yes, yes I remember." She placed a hand on her breast and the side of her body, bracing herself firmly for the topic she was dreading to discuss. "I-I must say that this is most tragic and sudden."

"What is sudden about something that you have known about since agreeing to my terms?" He asked, raising a slender eyebrow. "I provided you with a building to do with what you wished, which was raising a bunch of orphans who were too unfortunate to have any living relatives to take care of them. I dare say, it is not something I would have done, and I applaud you for trying. Not many can say they have saved an orphan or two from certain death."

If his previous statement did not anger her, this one surely did.

"You vile, evil man! How can you be so cruel, so condemning?" She yelled angrily, pointing her finger to him, her eyes glossed with tears. "I have raised these children, taught them, watched them excel and grow- I will not allow you to speak of them as if they are nothing more than rubbage, do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"What is this nonsense!" Lucius spat at the old woman as they spun around in an endless dance. "I will not be talked with such disgrace and rudeness. I am the owner of this estate, and I will do whatever I damn well please with it!"

"Does that include taking the only home these children have known away?" she asked. "I do not care if you used to own the building, Lord Malfoy. The contract has been signed under my name."

Evidently, the conversation had progressed fairly quickly by the time Narcissa arrived back at her husband's side.

"You," he hissed," how dare you even speak to me with such a tone. You knew damn well when you signed the agreement that this was the sort of thing that could have happened. That I could go back on my word, and-"

"Oh, yes," she said pleasantly, even risking a smile as she bashed him with her words and excellent entail," going back on your agreements is the sort of things that you are notorious for, yes, Master Lucius? Need I remind you of the agreements that you have made with Spain, or the one that you made with France just last summer? I should have known that your words were nothing but venom and that eliciting your help would only result in an argument."

"Then why bother?" he bellowed, trying to drown out her needy words with his own fire-filled ones. "If you sense my disloyalty, my scheme to take back that was once given, then why did you proceed with it in the first place!"

Ms. Cole stopped mid-sentence, providing him with the same sadden expression that he has come to know. One of pure pity, one that he wished would stop rearing its ugly head.

"I believed in the wrong source." She said softly. "I trusted that you would come to your senses after seeing the happiness that this land brought to the children. Oh, do no look at me like that Lord Lucius! I know of the enchantments that have been placed on this land, as you say. All to appease some-"

"Do not dare!" he hissed. "Do no dare speak that harlot's name. It is her fault that we find ourselves in the situation that we are in."

"I dare say, it is because of you that were have found disagreement." Ms. Cole shrieked lowly, her voice nothing more than a raw whisper among the garden.

Narcissa turned to the woman and let out a strangled gasp. Not for her current appearance, but for the sadistic gleam that she found in her husband's eyes.

She could not warn her of what was to come for her voice had been stolen from her. All she could do was let the tears come to her eyes as she watched her Lord's fingers inch towards his jacket and touch his breast.

"See here, Lord Lucius, I have had enough of your foolishness!" she snapped with a harsh tone, almost crawling like a disfigured spider towards him. "I have spent the entirety of my early years looking after children less fortunate than me, and I will not tolerate such arrogance any longer! Your profanity toward the children, your reckless drive for power and gain is nothing more than a sick prayer on death ears. If you wish to take the only home that these children have, then you will have to go through me. I will die before I see these children be thrown to the streets to starve and die."

"Ah," his fable voice pronounced, his hand coming to draw something from his robes that resembled a long, wooden stick. Smooth and topped with a silver serpent with its mouth drawn open and its fangs ready to sink into awaiting flesh. Ms. Cole looked upon it with curiosity.

Before she had time to react, he raised his hand holding the wand and flash ignited around them.

* * *

Dobby the House Elf followed obediently behind his master's pride. His little master had not spoken a word since his mistress relinquished them from her presence, finding the scene in which was about to unfold most unpleasantly before them too much for either of them to witness. He was not a conversation type, so it came to him as a surprise when his little master stopped and turned to speak to him.

"Dobby," he said with a small drawl. "Find me the library and come back to me once you do."

"I-I…"

"It is alright, Dobby. Mother will not know if you leave me unattended for a few moments. What she does not know will not bring harm to her. Go, now. I will wait here, I promise."

While his little master appeared to be capable of watching himself for a few moments, Dobby looked like he was not so sure about the idea. But, he agreed anyway. What was he to say no to his little master?

Draco watched with unhurried eyes and a bored expression as the elf vanished into thin air in search of a library that he knew did not exist. Why his mother insisted that he go into the Orphanage that his father was about to tear down was beyond him; he found no amusement either way.

Why he wanted to was a mystery to him. All he could think about was the treasure that would be waiting for him at the end of the tunnel.

Whilst he left his elf to find a room that could not be tracked down, he was left to temporary abandonment. For a boy of almost fourteen, he has seen the world with closed eyes. As he walked, he made a statement to keep them wide open. He had sensed something before coming to the Orphanage that he was determined to find. It was only a matter of time before he did.

As he walked, his fingers grazed the old wallpaper experimentally. For a building as old as this one, it was holding up remarkably well. All his life he has bene surrounded by luxury, golden plates, platters, expensive toys, and dressings that he sometimes wished he could escape and live a life that was not his own. He could not blame his parents for wanting to give him everything; he would wish for the same thing for them if he was in a position where he could gift them with anything they wanted. It is just that he did not wish to be so spoiled, no matter how much his upbringing influenced his daily lifestyle and decisions.

Old portraits welcomed him on either side of the hallway. Murmurs of children sounded all around him and for a brief moment he felt like he belonged. Like he was not different and strange and forced into seclusion as he has been all his life. His heart hummed like the beat of a hummingbird, coming alive as he approached a small room where a group of small children sat and played with what little toys and trinkets that they possessed. It was this sort of anticipation that he dreamed to find, that he lived for secretly underneath the protective gazes of his parents. He wanted, no desired this interaction that it drove him to incredible lengths while it crashed him down back to the ground. This whirlwind excitement could only turn into heartbreak; no one would want to meet him.

"Hi," a little voice said.

It came from a girl no older than four. She was dressed with a simple Georgian inspired dress accompanied by frilly sleeves and a light blue sash that was tied comfortably behind her back. The boy tilted his head, examining her as she remained still and quiet. Something that was taught at an early age, presumably by their Mistress.

"Good evening," he said the little girl rather sharply. No one has ever come right up to him and spoken to him without preamble. What nerve the little girl had! "Nice to meet your acquaintance."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He stared blankly at her before answering. "Visiting."

"Oh," she said, shifting from one foot to the other. "Wanna play?"

"No thank you."

The little girl frowned at this. He did not mean to be so rude, but he really had to be going. It was his intention until the next words that came out of her mouth stopped him from doing so.

To say that it stunned him would be an understatement.

"Are you here to take the house?"

"T-the what?" he stuttered, his words coming out of his mouth in a great rush.

"The house," she squeaked almost like a little mouse. "This is our house." The girl stretched out her arms, indicating that the building that they were in was her house.

"Yes, were are in your home."

"Are you here to take it?" Again, the question took him by complete surprise. "I hope you are not here to take it…"

"Why on earth- "

"I heard her say that he was here for our house…" Tears began to collect in the corners of her eyes. "I do not want him to take my house."

"No one is here to take it," he assured her despite the mounting regret from promising such words. He could only stand there and allow the guilt flutter around his stomach like a nervous butterfly; how in the world was he supposed to tell a four year-old that what she was saying was true? That she could possibly lose her home in a matter of hours because of the selfish man that he had as a father? No one in their right mind could bring themselves to tell a child, even her, of the inevitable decision that has come to pass.

His father was an evil, cruel man. Damn him for even wanting the building back in the first place!

"That man is here, y'know. The one with the long, pretty hair? I know he is here to take our house. He already has one, right? So why does he want ours?"

"I cannot answer that," and before the little girl could inquire about the issue further, he excused himself and hurried back down the hall, turning sharply at the intersection. From there, he found the staircase and ascended to the second floor where he stopped at the landing to catch his breath.

It was in that moment that he sunk to the floor and brought his knees to his chest.

He could not say that he did not understand what the little girl meant by what she said. He knew very well what his father's business here today was, and it was not to take note of the surrounding land in any organizes preparation. No, it was to survey the damage that has been inflicted upon one his oldest estates. He did not know much about it, but he knew enough to form an opinion about it. What his mother had told him could not be further from the truth, even if she let her tongue slip and she was punished verbally for her indiscretion.

His father was taking the building back for his own nefarious needs and no one was strong enough to stop him. Not even him, his own flesh and blood.

When he looked up, he found the same girl from earlier staring back at him with wide, curious eyes. Green as emerald, her eyes opened the gates of his soul and awakened another part of him that he wished to keep buried.

"Go away," he demanded instantly.

She did not. Instead, she stepped forward, the friends that joined her urging her to stay away. While Draco glowered at the little girl, she did not falter as she sought the ground and wrapped her small arms around his neck. She cooed at him like a mother would do to their newborn baby. Even with something so small embracing him, he felt so incredibly large. Great because of the sheer difference in age and height, but so very vulnerable due to the simple fact that even he could not escape being open to harm.

He drew his arms around her for a moment before she helped him up and straightened up his jacket.

Just as he was about to step out of her way, he looked down at her and looked deeply into her eyes. Though he could not very well promise the world, he was certain that he can promise something else that she could take with her for the rest of her days, and that was everything would be alright, even if that meant she and her dear friends would struggle.

* * *

Slender fingers continued to caress the painting. Brown eyes lingered over the worried words as little puffs of annoyance brushed the air.

Hermione had been sitting there far longer than she imagine. It was mid-day, and she had yet to clean the remaining shelves and sweep the floor, yet she could not bring herself to let go of the book that she had found and busy herself with useless chores, even if her Mistress implored her to finish them.

She was tired. Tired of sitting there on the dirt floor, mostly. While the sun came rushing in like a stampede of ponies, illuminating the room with rays of golden light, she made up her chose and stood. Brushing her skirts, she let her eyes scan the place where she placed the book. Not a second passed before she lent down and picked it up, hugging it tightly against her breast. It was a treasure, and like any treasure, it should be treated as such.

As Hermione looked around the room with the gloom that only came with exerting herself to no end, she came across a decision that was sure to lighten up her mood. She knew not when Lord and Lady Malfoy were due to arrive, so acting upon the clandestine burial that she has kept surely would not be a threat, could it not? Surely playing with the magic that was in her would not bring about mischief?

One could only hope, she supposed as she waltzed around the drawing room like a lonely fairy and placed her book on the crimson and golden sofa near her place.

She could not place a single misdeed to what she wished to partake in; no one was around, and again she found the opportunity all too inviting. As soon as she tried to summon the magic that she knew she possessed, something caught her eye.

Her little friends saw the opportunity and came out once more to play.

"Oh, there you are." She giggled. "Where are you all gone to, hmm?"

None of the little creatures answered, looking warily around her instead of answering her question. She met their curious gazes, realizing that it fell upon the sofa where she left her book.

"Pretty, is it not?"

They all looked at her with wide eyes.

"It is a story, silly!" she laughed girlishly again. "It is about a beauty and a beast that loved her. Very beautiful, if you ask me. Sad, but very beautiful. Do you wish to listen?"

Her little friends nodded frantically, some looking at each other with smiles upon their tiny faces.

Hermione smiled aspiringly at them before grabbing the book and sitting down to tell them the tale. All the while, her magic blossomed out around her.

* * *

He walked until he could no longer hear their amused voices. Although it was not the children he could not stand, it was the sort of happiness that they have come to expect from everyday living that he had grown to loath. He endeared it through the time he spent with them before he had to depart. As short-lived as it was, he was grateful for the interaction he was able to obtain, and he would treasure it forever.

Draco walked for quite some time until his meaningless wanderings took him down the hallway, and away from where he met the little girl from his previous voyages.

While he was perfectly content on making his way back to where he was supposed to wait until his elf's return, he found wonderment elsewhere. It came as a symbolled voice.

Soft, yet airy. The voice carried a tune untraveled, unhurried. There was a musical composition hat he could not place, which was quite strange since he was able to extract and convince even the smallest of details to come to mind. The song was completely foreign to her; even to his ears, it sounded as if it came from some far off land across great open waters. Never in his life did he hear anything so appealing, so stunningly perfect. Even his mother's voice could not compare to _hers_.

As he marked this occasion, he strolled slowly to the open door of what had to be a dedicated seating area. If it came close to being a library, he supposed he would not be drawing away from the freedom that his mother bestowed to him.

Just a peek, he justified his reasoning by his curiosity to know and to see. Just one glance, and al will be forgotten.

But it was not.

Nothing could have prepared him for the scene that unfolded like a ballet before him.

* * *

 **A/N:** _For the most part, it's edited. There may be some errors in the narrative, but I'll take care of that later. It's been a long week and I would much rather deal with that later._

Until next time,

-Carolare Scarletus


	8. Chapter Seven

**A/N down below**

 _As always, enjoy_

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Seven_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

A flower blossomed to corrupted ore

Be plucked like enchanted lyre

Gentle is the hand that grazes the leaf

Eyes that hold onto popular belief

Beauty has been taught to fight

While awaiting Beast among the night

A flower and her captivator.

~*.*~

* * *

"Would you like to dance with me?" she whispered to the little creatures that had swarmed around her. They came to witness what little experience she had in the art of dance and to accompany if her need for a partner overpowered the joy to teach. Draco watched and listened through the crack of the open door. His eyes scanned what they could see and found that the girl was quite beautiful. With light freckles that kissed her beige skin, dark brown eyes that did not draw away from her natural elegance, and a curly hair that he longed to touch and feel. Yes, she was quite stunning. For a little girl, she had to be the most gorgeous little pixie he has ever seen. To think that she could gain the trust of her little friends was an achievement on its own and longed to see and hear more.

The creatures looked up at her in awe as she swirled around the room, her hair flowing behind her in the wind. Her skirts brushed against her heels, and the small ribbons of her clothed elbows moved like a soothing wave. The girl moved gracefully on her feet from one side of the modest library to the next. Her eyes casted above while her fingers drew together and her hands rolled in small circles. This dance was hypnotizing; every time she dared to jump, his heart soared, hoping that she would not fall. The last thing he wanted was for her fall flat on her face, or worse, get hurt. A bruise upon her flawless skin would be a sin; he could not bear if she was marked.

Of course, it was a boyish dream of his. If this little girl came to him not as a figment of his imagination, she would surely see him for what he truly was. She would not see the care in his eyes, the thumping of his blackened heart, the way he longed to move just as she moved. He knew what she would see him as.

A beast.

Who in their rightful mind would consort with him, anyway?

Not her. Definitely not her.

There was little hope from where his wandering musing took him. Escaping from these awful thoughts, Draco entered the room, sticking to the wall, firm with his belief that the girl could not see him as he pressed further into the room. He drew close to a coffee table where he took it upon himself to make sure he did not bump into it.

"Why not join me, hmm?" he heard her giggle and he could not help lean in closer for a better look.

Dressed in light pink, she danced around as if she had been dancing all her life. She was a vision, an absolute wonder. It was as if the waltz came as naturally to her as every ounce of her magic. The girl soared like a bird, dropping down until her legs tucked beneath her. This little act was remarkable; he had never seen anyone so prone to flying except for the small cases in which his world was valiantly known for. That sport was nothing compared to what he was witnessing at this very moment. Nothing could come close to how marvelous she was, or how she was able to ease her magic passing through the usage of well-fitted movements.

That intrigued him. How was she able to control it so well and not reap the horrific consequences if it were to go wild? For someone who was painfully deprived, how could she be so balanced with herself and her surroundings?

"Come on, you lot!" she laughed as she twirled around to a soundless tune. "I cannot be the only one to enjoy this!"

Indeed, she cannot.

Draco found fond amusement in the way that she moved and the way she spoke. Terribly unethical and unladylike as it was, there was a kind of trance to it that he could not pull away from. Try as he might, however, he was becoming more and more smitten by her by the moment.

He particularly enjoyed her easy-going persona. The way she spoke, articulated her words, the hidden world of her knowledge. How can anyone be so mesmerizing? In all his years, he has never come across someone so unbelievably true than her.

Where has she been, he wondered to himself. That was what he would like to know. The answer did not come until the elf that he ran away from appeared beside him with a loud pop, having spent the past hour or so searching for him in the fairly large building. He was clearly distraught and it was up to the young master to assuage his fears.

He stepped through the small space of the door, minding his boundaries as he edged inside and kept to the wall. When he finally made it inside the drawing room, the elf immediately went to firing all his little voice could muster.

"M-Master." he whimpered, keeping his eyes glued only to him.

"Dobby," he acknowledged, prematurely ruining his good mood. "You have found me."

"Master should not have ran off!" squeaked the little elf. "M-master should have stayed where he said he would be!"

"I know, Dobby." Draco could not help smile at the little elf. "But, I found something far more tempting and I had to capture it."

Draco raised his hand, pointing at the girl.

The elf followed his guiding finger, his eyes widening at what he saw.

"A-a girl, Master?"

He nodded. "Yes, but not just any girl, Dobby. I fear she may be the one…"

Draco's eyes burned with the intensity of an opened flamed as he watched the girl twirl about in undisrupted dance.

He watched her.

She remained ever oblivious to her one and only attendees.

* * *

His wand was still pointing at her was still raised as his eyes dissipated the brightness behind a short flare of green. With wide eyes, Ms. Cole met the onslaught of magic completely unprepared. The wind kicked up atrociously around them, bringing the dirt to rise and fall around them. While the ostentatious light died away to nothing more than a small, unyielding bit of a spirited form, it was upon the figure behind the uneventful save that had Lucius under the wing of conscious dread. When her life flashed before his eyes his skin pricked with tension. Just as it was certain that it would hit her a spark of vibrant purple shot out in front of her, shielding her vulnerable form from the flash of lightening that was so close to colliding with her. A figure emerged from the colored smoke; she lowered her wand slowly, her eyes meeting that of Lord Lucius. As her face became clearer and a flash of recognition rushed across his features, causing his already pale skin to a hue akin to paper. Docile grey eyes blackened as his magic engulfed him in unfathomably rage.

Lucius knew the woman all too well.

As tall and unmistakable as she was, Madam Maxime was notorious among the Wizarding World, having been the Headmistress of Beauxbatons for as long as his memory served him. She was of absolutely reign; her astounding perseverance and doctrine was something to admire. Her business intrigued him nonetheless. Why she had decided to come to the Orphanage of all days was extremely puzzling; for a woman who tended to one of the largest schools in France, she ought to be there and not in London. She was cunning, stealthily foreboding. Even he was a bit deterred by her massive presence, not to mention the call in which she had acted on. It was rather odd to see her among the normal-sized citizens. He questioned her position as well as her reason for saving the old Muggle woman.

It was not of his concern why. Maxime's alliance had always been solely on those who held true, and that was not her Lord.

The blasted woman thought she could get the way of the line of fire. She was deathly wrong. As mad as he was, someone had to pay and it would be of the foolish woman to even raise her voice at him and throwing accusation upon accusation at him in return. He drew his wand back, mentally casted another spell that would send both of them to the ground and hopefully for good. His eyes ignited like the fire within, and he pointed his wand in their general direction only to have his spell rebound, fly across the field, over his shoulder, and to a tree. It lit up with fury of green. The scent of burnt wood was strong in the air.

Maxime straightened up, fixed her short black hair quickly before throwing her arm out in front of Ms. Cole. She stood quivering in her place; her eyes looked right at the tree as it fully caught fire. It was as if she lost a loved one because she looked at it in shock while she watched it whither and crumble to the ground. The charred remained caught the wind and it was gone.

"'T, 't." Maxime said tersely, drawing her attention to the wizard before her "one would assume that you learned how to address a woman without, how do you say, losing your temper Lord Lucius?"

"Madame Maxime," he drawled a bit too politely for his liking. "It is good to see you. May I ask why you have come here on such short notice?"

It was obvious that Maxime did not want to tell him her business. When she spoke, it came as a surprise that she mentioned anything at all. Even for Narcissa, her betrayal was immensely perplexing.

"I am 'ere on an urgent call."

"To save a worthless Muggle, perhaps?" hissed her Lord.

The French woman raised a delicate black eyebrow, torn between hexing him or answering his question.

"I am 'ere perhaps to save more than just one life, Lord Malfoy." Her implication was not lost.

In that moment, Lucius drew his wand up and tried to cast another spell in which she reflectively shielded herself flawlessly with her graceful hand. This went on for several minutes and as Narcissa watched the scene unfold right before her, she turned her attention to Ms. Cole, who had bene reduced to a fit of frightful tears. Sparks of deep red flew between and around them until they lit up with the other's fury. It was then that all hell broke out, and they were truly at a loss.

Ms. Cole stammered to form a coherent sentence and it was up to Narcissa to pull her away from the line of fire that sparked between the two of them. When she came up to the poor, defenseless woman, she wrapped her arm around her shoulder and ushered her to take a spot away from the two feuding differences. It was just not safe for a Muggle such as her safe to go wandering into something that ought to be left alone.

"W-why I never!" she cried. "In all my years dealing with your sort of people, never has anyone tried to pull… pull their wands on me! If I should tell the police- "

"The police would be no use to you, my dear woman," Narcissa whispered as she gallantly persuaded her to the other side of the garden. "Let us get you away from them. I shall answer any questions you may have then."

She looked around. There was much land between them and the Orphanage, but it struck her hard that there was even the slightest chance that someone by come and see the forceful fight between her Lord and Headmistress. Neither of them seemed the least bit concerned about the openness of their quarrel, or who may see.

Oh, the amount of trouble he could get into!

If only her Lord was obvious this fact. Then he would be able to see the error of his ways and refrain from any more attacks. But, no. He was now wise to listen to her desperate, quiet pleas.

 _Silence, woman!_ His voice echoed in her head. _Only I will make the calls; you are to stay out of the way._

"Why on earth are they acting so viciously?"

Although she could not answer that particular question, Narcissa responded with the best choice of an answer that she could.

"Perhaps, it is upon Maxime's belief that something was to go astray? Has she spoken to her in the last several weeks at all?"

The two women hurried over to the other side of the feuding Lord and Headmistress.

Ms. Cole nodded. "Yes, yes she has to be perfectly honest."

"About what, I may ask?"

They stopped suddenly. Narcissa stared into Ms. Cole's eyes, searching for an answer.

"She came to speak to me about one of my girls." The older woman responded with reminiscence. Her voice was quiet, measure. As if she was afraid to bring up anything in regards to the visit from the woman. "Yes, she visited not too long ago upon my request. You see, I have a child here that has been exhibiting some extraordinary bursts of… of magic."

"O-of magic?" Narcissa whispered.

She nodded. "Oh, yes. Magic. And she has quite a talent for it. A talent, though unstable."

Narcissa opened her mouth to speak but was silenced by a loud bang that resonated from the thunderous scene. Maxime pulled her arm back and casted another powerful spell, which Lucius responded with another equally impressive spell in return. The two continued on with battle of magic until one of Maxime's spells hit Lucius right in the chest, sending him flying backwards in the air and sprawling onto the floor and coughing up bubbles of green mucus.

As he struggled to take deep, sustaining breaths, Maxie came around. She towered above him like a mighty tree. Her black eyes growing hopelessly dark, if that was even possible. Under the circumstances, it was her anger that could achieve that distinction and it was Narcissa who heeded that warning.

The Pureblood woman turned to the shivering Muggle. Her eyes looked pleadingly into hers, hoping for her to catch onto her subtle little entrance.

"I must ask you," she began, her voice hoarse, her eyes stricken with grief," Which of your girls is in possession of this unstable magic that you have spoken of?"

Ms. Cole looked at her with saddened eyes. Just as she was about to answer, which lingered almost like a reflective image in her eyes, Lucius stood and pointed his wand back on Maxime.

" _Tu es monstre_!"

He seemed perturbed by her declaration for he gripped his wand tighter, his eyes glowing a steady shade of ice.

Far from being dreadful, she knew instantly what the woman said about her husband. It was her bond with him that forced her to not agree with the accusation. No matter how much she liked to believe that her Lord was pure in heart, it was the opinions of others that made her realize the truth was quite in fact in front of her.

He was a monster. Reduced to this sniveling form. The years were not kind to him, as it was not to her. Their youth was measured more by the time they spent locked away rather than the time they spent enjoying it. Lucius was evil; anyone with a rightly placed mind could see. It was with that evil that shook her very core and gripped her in a painful grip.

" _Je ne suis pas monstre_ ," he grinned wickedly at her as he struggled to stand. "It is every other bloody person that walks this forsaken earth!" He spat, some of his blood splattering into the grass.

" 'ow can you be so selfish?" the Headmistress cried.

"Selfish is not the correct word, unfortunately. My dear woman, surely you can see?"

"See what?"

Lucius did not give the woman a second to act; he threw his arm back behind him, his mind gathering a motely of incantations to use on the poor helpless defenses. She was much older than she appeared, it would only take one fatal blow to finish her off. Before his chance was met, however, the sweet sound of his wife's voice called to him and he had no choice but to comply to his more suitable temperament.

"Lucius, please," Narcissa pandered to his better nature imploringly. "I beg you. Resign from this hatred."

Her Lord's head turned slowly and she was met with smothering steel. Gulping, keep herself in check, she tugged her chin in and looked quietly to the ground. It was not until his fingers brushed against her cheek that she felt that she could relax.

"Oh, 'e is l'ing! You cannot cure what 'e is!" Maxime bellowed. "'ow can you be so forgiv'n?"

"And what is that my dear woman?" chuckled Lucius as his finger skimmed his wife's cheek again. "As I have said, it is not I who is the monster. Perhaps you ought to look at yourself or someone else for that matter? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it should be the same with the Beast, yes?"

Her brows drew together. It was her eyes that sent sparks of anger to fly out and land like fire upon his person.

* * *

Hermione twirled around until deep aches settled in the hard muscle of her feet. She did not care and proceeded to clean and entertain her guests as if nothing was wrong. She did not want them to think that there was a cause for alarm when really it was her body's natural instinct to take rest when it was tired. That she could not due, so she continued. And they were not complaining. They were appreciative for her commitment to the art.

She spent the last hour or so washing, sweeping, and mopping that it was high time that she settled down. The only thing she could be guilty of was enjoying her hard work, and if that was a crime, then she should be locked away until days of old. She still could not see the wrong in it.

There seemed to be another viewer among her and she immediately stopped her dance to take a look around the room. As she caught her breath, throwing her skirts around her so they covered her vulnerable form and patted her hair so it was not a disgraceful mess, Hermione was able to calm down long enough to find a boy some years older than her standing by the entrance to the drawing room, his back pressed against the wall, his steel eyes looking right at her.

She was accustomed to people gawking; she got it all the time when people visited the Orphanage to pay respect to the orphans during adoption week. Although she was one of the ones that never received the time of day, his unashamed interest made her feel more becoming than she has ever felt. She felt wanted, desired, and most of all noticed. Those eyes, ah those eyes, they spoke to her soul.

"Hello," she decided on a simple greeting. "Are you here to see one of the other orphans?"

What a stupid question, but she had to ask. No one really saw her, much less came to her unless she was needed or was in trouble. Regardless, it was always polite to ask what sort of business a person had before assuming the worst. If anything, he was the boy who delivered the groceries. She has never seen him before so the story seemed plausible.

When he shook his head, pushing himself from the wall and greeting the ambient light, Hermione found herself face to face with one of the most beautiful boys she has ever met.

Appropriately long blonde hair, icy blue eyes, pale complexion. Oh, yes. He was quite the creature. And with character to match! Not that she would think any less of him if he were not so handsome, of course. She just found his unique attributes and fair skin remarkable, that is all. Not to mention is alluring demeanor…

…Hermione quickly looked to her friends that she was sure he could not see. They did not seem to be bothered by his presence, which granted her to sigh in relief. She would not know how to handle such a situation if someone other than herself came to witness them and what their magic could invoke. She hardly believed that a boy such as he would even have the ability to see them, or that was what she thought until he spoke to her for the first time.

"I can see them," he told her calmly, approaching her slowly, careful not to startle her. As to assure her that she was not insane at all.

She caught onto this and frowned. What could he possibly do that would startle her, though? Was he afraid of some malevolent force, or was it the physical manifestation of his worst fears at play?

"They are lovely, are they not?"

Hermione lifted her hand and let the small fairies to play with her fingers. She resisted the urge to giggle. Oh, how atrocious that would be in front a boy she just met! So she remained silent, impassive. That was her true motive until the boy spoke again, this time his voice as soft and careful as ever.

"Yes, they are."

"Are you aware they are the Summertime Fae?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "Of course, they come out whenever they please, but only if one wishes for them. They tend to the foliage, hiding behind and around springs and the soft canopy of the forest, you see."

The girl stared at him with noticed speculation but he paid her no mind. "It is said that their queen is the most beautiful of all. Surely, you know of her?"

She shook her head and proceeded to back away from him as if not wanting to be caught by his attempt to sway her.

"I cannot say that I have." The girl murmured. "These fairies are small and have not spoken of a queen."

"They must be waiting, then."

"Waiting for what?"

"To measure your trustworthiness." said the boy. "Fae are beautiful creatures, but there are many who have tried to exploit their powers. They trust only themselves, and the ones they do trust outside their kind are few."

"How would I know if they have accepted me?" she asked in a whisper.

The boy looked at her and said," When they have seen inside the chambers of your soul." He paused. "That cannot be. I can sense they are hesitant."

"Why would they be hesitant?"

"They are because I am with you."

The girl looked at the fluttering fairies. Their tiny faces were marked with dreadful expressions. There were only but five; each of them were wary. Why, though? How can they be so judgmental? The girl gasped. It appears she was doing the same thing as they were. Judging without preamble.

"Why would they be?"

"I cannot be trusted."

She was just within his reach, and the fairies knew that.

Draco observed her carefully. Wishful thinking overwhelmed him. He had to ask, had to know.

"What is your name?"

"I do not see why it concerns you."

"I asked you nicely," he said, narrowing his eyes on her. "I assume you know what manners are. Why not use them?"

"Why you," she gasped, twirling around, her hair flaring around her like a threatening halo of fire. Her amber eyes glowed intensely, her hands curling into fists. "You are being very rude!"

"You dare speak to me like that?" the boy hissed. She could easily see that his anger was rising as well, and she could not allow him to order her around like some common maid. Instead, she stood her ground, her friends flying around her in defiant support. The boy looked between her and the creatures before his eyes settled back on her frame. His eyes glittered with unadulterated rage.

"It is customary," when she spoke this time, she was determined to subtly demonstrate to him his mistake. It was not her misdeed, but his, "to give your own name first when introducing yourself to a lady. Did your mother ever teach you that?"

"That is amusing," he smirked, something awful and tricking playing in his eyes. "My mother did teach me that, but I do not see a lady here."

He then turned, hiding his utter delight to the more delivering nature that came from her bewilderment. As he had suspected, she was easily swayed. Even a single negative account would spark such envious fire. Gods, how he wished to continue to fuel that burning wrath. Then he would truly have sought enlightenment. He would very much like to know what else set her off.

She was a natural phenomenon. How can some little girl spark such positivity within his soul and alit him with the flames of a thousand wishes? Surely, she was lying about her life because he could not see anything but the astounding notion of beauty and grace. If the Beast could find the Belle, surely he had some hope after all.

Yes, he believed he has found her.

As the girl slowly simmered down, he walked around her in slow, tantalizing circles. He analyzed her like one would analyze art or fine wine. He carefully peeled away her soft, yet tough exterior layer until he found an appealing nudity of her form that he could feast his eyes upon. Yes, it was that rawness that he was searching for, craving to find. And, one he found it, he wanted to let it go. She was like a small fire. Yes, a small fire that could be fueled so easily, so wildly with scorn and passion. He liked how her frizzy hair jolted out like lightning bolts when provoked, how her eyes seemed to darken as her anger grew, the way her body tensed as if it was not built for such extreme pressure of dissolved exercise. Every bit of this girl was exquisite, and if he were true to his aesthete nature, he could spend hours just watching her until his musing brought him back to the break of dawn. She was a masterpiece that he would very much like to obtain.

This realization only grew as he continued to explore her. Unbeknownst to her, his eyes glowing the unmistaken shade of the follower of The Shadows. Always there, always hidden. He knew that she did not come from nobility; if where she lived had anything to say. It was her thirst for knowledge that intrigued him, as well as the lack of wealth in the same regards. With glowing amber eyes, he stepped back into the shadows of the room and set about exploring the other sides of this Goddess of Enchantment.

Something strange came from watching her. She moved about like she had done when she was not aware of him watching her. There was a kind of stiffness that he could not place. Like her magic was locked away in a dark, cold cellar, wish greatly to be set free. It was convulsing wildly within her. He could see it. How it rose and fell in her tiny body. The way it lashed out and about her pores and sunk down like morning dew upon the unsuspecting floor. This manifestation bewildered him greatly; she was in danger of collapsing under the sheer power of her own spirit.

Draco moved about the room in small increments. He first garnered a looked, watching the Fae carefully. They were watching him too; they did not take their eyes off him. He strolled around silently. His eyes landed on every dully space, gathering an equally dull musing of his environment.

He was waiting. Waiting patiently for her to do something, say anything. It was rather annoying and gnawing to have to wait for her to speak.

"Hermione."

His hand dropped form the shelf, turned, and looked at her bewildered and she elaborated.

"You asked for my name." There was a sting of torn resentment and biting betrayal in her voice. "It is Hermione."

"Hermione." he murmured, testing her name out slowly. As if making sure he was pronouncing it correctly. If he remembered correctly, her name was deprived for a daughter orally taught through the myths of Greece. "Daughter of..."

"…King Menelaus of Sparta and Helen of Troy." offered the girl. "Yes, I know. I am quite aware of the origin of my name."

"Who told you?" His hand came to caress the spines once again. Each of his fingers making different marks and swirls upon their skin.

She shrugged, her eyes landing peacefully on the fairies, indicating to him several things that he did not believe he would learn.

"How long have you known?" he whispered, this time not wanting to disturb or frighten her. His full attention was on her. Forget the useless material that he has read so many times. His real treasure was her. Only her.

"That I was different?" she asked, equally ashamed of the volume of her voice.

He nodded and she bit her lip.

"Do not be afraid."

 _Hermione._

Gods, even her name was a beautiful thought. He regarded her carefully. He stopped himself by coercing her through brute force to speak. Draco craved her free will, her free spirit. The last thing he wanted was to take that away from her.

"F-for quite some time." Although her voice wavered, there was conviction in the way she spoke. Like she was proud of who she was, even if she didn't know exactly what she was.

Draco adored that.

"I have known that something was different about me. Something the children of this establishment have been so kind as to remind me."

"You have been bullied?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"By whom exactly?" His eyes flashed gold, much too quick for her to even notice. "Someone such as yourself should be ridiculed."

"Someone without parents, you mean?" she spat bitterly. She suddenly became angry by what he said. "I am in no mood for your rudeness. Leave now, or I will call someone to escort you out."

Hermione was certainly a temperamental little thing. He would have to be more cordial from now on, lest he serve to upset her.

"I mean no harm by what I said." It was then that he realized what he had spoken. He did not want her to feel insignificant.

She moved so that her little friends formed a small barrier between them. Their aeviternal light glowed around her in a protective veil. If they wished it, he would not come any closer to her until they deemed him worthy of her attentions.

"You clearly do not know what you said." she said sadly. Hermione touched one of the fairies and sighed. "It is enough for me to have lived the last eleven years being pushed aside and derided. Of course, I do believe you do not know what it is like. You must live in a grand chateau or in a lavish establishment; you do not know what it is to be without a family, a place to call home. Why, it is the very foundation of basic human needs! So, do not say that I should be ridiculed."

"Please accept my deepest apologies." He begged. "I did not mean for the words to come out like that. I have misspoken."

"Clearly."

"Allow me to make it up to you."

"I do not think-"

"Please," he reached out and grabbed her hand. "It would humble me greatly. I upset you. I need to rectify that immediately."

"What you said really hurt…" she mumbled, casting her gaze downward.

"I know." His voice was just as pained as the expression that graced her features. "Allow me to make it up to you."

"You are sorry?'

He nodded.

Hermione let out a staggering sigh. It was as if she had poured her heart out and cried. No tears were present; Draco was pleasantly surprised by her quickness to turn her spirit around.

"Then you are forgiven."

Draco grabbed her hand and walked her over to the other side of the drawing room. They walked in silence. He wishfully hoped that she would speak but was disappointed when she made no noise that would indicate her interest in light-hearted conversation. Instead, he chose to enlighten her. He must have misspoken, and wanted to fix that before anything else came between them.

"You seem quite fond of them."

"Pardon?"

"Books." he corrected. "For someone who lives in an orphanage, you surely have an impressive collection."

"They are not mine."

"Oh?" he did not allow her the pleasure of elaborating. "How much of these books have you read?"

The girl looked at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"All of them." she whispered.

Draco walked over to the nearest bookshelf and lovingly touched the spine of the first one his eyes landed on. It was then that he noticed a singular book sticking out from the masses. He wanted to reach out and pluck it like the little flower it was but he held himself still. He could not, would not pluck it for it may die in his hands.

"The Fae seem to enjoy you as well." He spoke with measured control. "Is it often you partake in dance?"

"No, not often."

"Is it something that is forbidden in your establishment?" he asked, wanting to know more about her. Seconds passed but she did not speak.

"Surely, it would be fitting he did not seem to notice the growing anxiety that fell upon Hermione's face. He was treading very thin waters, stressing his vision of stay and the expanse of what was deemed appropriate to express. "It seems that you are very restrained, very well kept here, no? You are sheltered, and it is high time that you are given an opportunity to see what is out there, waiting for you to discover."

Hermione immediately dropped his hand form hers and stepped away from him.

"I hardly think it is proper of you to speak to me like that." She said. "I am not something to own, something to use, either. I am free to do whatever I wish."

"Do you always treat your guests with such welcome, girl?" Draco was growing bored of this reversal of the wits. She was a tough little thing, was she not? All the more reason to break her, to evaluate her further. "Or, is this how you usually act?"

"How dare you," she hissed, her hair becoming wild again along with her eyes. "Are you naturally this rude? I can ask you the same questions, too!"

"No," he drawled slowly. "I do not act like this normally. Only with you do I lose my temper. You are aggravating." Hermione looked at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"Then leave." she hissed.

Draco frowned. She really this nasty! "Allow me to finish before you open your mouth to retort, girl. No wonder you are stuck in this place. No one want- "

Something distinctively hard slapped him against his cheek, causing his head to whirl quickly and painfully to one side. The slap was loud, resounding, and uncalled for. As he held his head there, Hermione waited for him to turn around and try to reprimand her for slapping him. She held her breath, regretting instantly for raising her hand to him but he had to know what he was going to say would have hurt her more than anything else.

Just because she had no family did not mean she was not wanted.

Slowly, he turned his head and Hermione's voice hitched and became lost on her throat. Eyes that once were steely grey were now a storming sea of gold and falling amber. They glowed violently in the darkening embers of the room.

A storm was coming and she had invoked it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Although it has been over a month or so since I updated, I am so glad that I can finally come back to this particular fic! I've been very busy with school work that it's put a constant rift between the time I put aside to write and what needs to be done. I passed all my classes (YAY!) so now it's time to get back to my passion and love :)

This chapter is unedited, but it was awfully fun to write. I must say the exchange between Draco and Hermione are just darling!

I have to say, I'm very displease and saddened by the lack of reviews. I'm not a greedy person, but the fact that I write this and make no profit from it and no one doesn't even write simple review for it is disheartening to say the least. I'm at a point where I'm beginning to question why people even bother to favorite and follow it. They don't leave any review or PM me or anything. I would LOVE to hear from y'all. I love the reception I've gotten so far, and would love to hear what y'all think of it as the story progresses. Do not be afraid to tell me how you feel! I don't understand how other authors can receive such great reception but others are left in the dirt. I firmly believe that encouragement is the greatest gift that anyone can give a writer.

Please, please, PLEASE leave a review. Let me know what you love, what you hate. What is just right, and what needs improvement. This doesn't just go for Beauty is Beast; this goes for all my fics. I don't if I can handle not getting to feedback I want for much longer.

With that said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

-Carolare Scarletus


	9. Chapter Eight

_As always, enjoy_

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Eight_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

Awaken the soul,

The little bud flowers in chasing the wind

When the fire is unleash

And casted into sin

~*.*~

* * *

The clouds overheard began to collect together in a monstrous storm. A single line of light ran through it like a powerful stream to wash away whatever was to come. It seemed to strike the ground, loud and thunderous that it shook the very space that it touched. The wind howled predatorily in the distance. The foliage rustled and the surrounding area grew deathly silent, as if anticipating and preparing for the inevitable. A sigh blew through the leaves and cascaded down upon them. Dark, embodying clouds to which signaled for a cause for alarm continued to gather and block out the sun. There had only been several other occasions when the weather and the Goddess ruling over nature became so disrupted. Whatever has been coming had arrived.

Narcissa's eyes scanned the sky. A dry thump formed in her throat. Never has she seen such foreboding forces at work; she could not rely only on her predispositions because she was not the only one who noticed the sky. Ms. Cole had also felt the stir around them and she was under the impression that she knew what was causing it.

The wind kicked up around her. Her skirts rustled in the wind and her hair flew every which way. She looked around inquiringly. The skies were displaying the strangest of oddities and it was unlike the ground to act accordingly to its touch.

Oh, yes. The storm was nearing.

Ms. Cole watched with horror as the scene transpired before her. Lord Lucius and Madame Maxime circled around each other, the forces of their magic lashing out like whips in front of them. It seemed to her that the spark that elicited form fathered by powerful deities were just the beginning of a frightful era. More dark clouds were rolling in and she let out a shallow gasp. Maxime flicked her wand and casted a dark sort of hue beam toward Lord Malfoy

In all her years, she has been accounted to read the signs. It was as if it were a warning, a small space in which to act. She knew that she must be scared, frightened, but from what she did not know. Hermione was a very special girl and to think that she was face to face with something more frightful was too unbearable. Her powers, her magic or whatever the bloody hell others wanted to call it was unstable. After all this time, it had yet to be pacified or even dealt with. She had to come clean.

"Lady Malfoy," she spoke urgently. "You must put a stop to your Lord's antics. I have children here who would become frightened if they see such raucous behavior and I cannot allow them to see it."

Narcissa slowly turned to face the older woman. "You believe him not to be safe?"

Of course she knew her lord was not safe. He would soon grow tired and demand their departure, but that did not seem viable. Lucius was a troubled man; even she could not stop him. She was quick to gather that something was not right, however. The prevailing wind, the caught torrent of the clouds- oh, yes. There was something transpiring against them and she had a rightful mind to find out what it was. The Lady looked imploringly at the older woman. She immediately noticed the distress and shook her head, as if to disillusion the image of what she was seeing. She could not believe what was happening; yet, even though, it had happened before, she still seemed to feel the same irked guidance that once introduced itself to her. She had to find out what and who was causing it

"I believe," she whispered insistently," that one of my children is in danger. These clouds… they have formed on several occasions. A great deal of stress could only elicit such a storm."

Lady Malfoy's eyes rose to the heavens and she let out a startled gasped. Dark, powerful clouds hung over them like a foreboding deity of nature. In its grasp it held such promise. She then turned back to the woman and whispered," Is it the girl?'

Ms. Cole nodded somberly. "It is."

"Why don't we make haste and see what on earth she is up to?" Lady Malfoy whispered. "Is she safe under such volatile conditions?"

"So it does not seem." Ms. Cole lifted her head again. "It has been a while since I have seen such formidable clouds. Hermione has not had an episode it some time." She then turned, eyeing Lady Malfoy suspiciously. "I do hope that your child is not the cause of this. Hermione might have been bullied and abused by the other children and I am not saying that your son is capable of doing such harm, but… I am just trying to look out for her and my children. She has no family, you see, and I would be terribly saddened if anything happened to her Lady Malfoy."

"No family, you say?"

The older woman nodded. "No family. They are dead."

"What has come of her parents?"

"No one knows for certain…" Ms. Cole said with a slight, unwavering frown. "It is rumored that she had been snatched from her home. Her parents were found in the burning rumble of what used to be her birth home. Nothing else remains."

Narcissa immediately turned her gaze to the Orphanage, her eyes widening in shock and horror. Who would have thought that one of the sweet little girls that dwelled in the building would possibly be capable of such weather changes? It was an absurd idea, but a believable one at that. She needed to go in there and find her son. She knew he could not be behind her treacherous powers, but who was to say that she had not awakened something in him?

The poor child. To go her whole life without the knowledge of what happened to her parents is an extraordinary thing to endure. A tragedy like no other, really. She had overcome so much. Ridicule, an outcaste to the lowest ranks of the society and human hierarchy. Who is to say she would survive any longer? What would come of her later in her misfortunate life?

"What is the cause of this triggering in the first place?" Narcissa asked, holding her breath. "Can it be reverted?"

"I am afraid I do not know." murmured the older woman. "Whatever it is causing it, I suspect it has to do with her magic, Lady Narcissa. There is something about her heritage that has been concealed for her protection

"I must go back." She turned to Ms. Cole. "I must find my son and see for myself. If there is something wrong, I shall alert the authorities."

"Why on earth would you do that" she quipped. "Hermione has done this before, but she had never harmed any of the children. Of course… I have had to call your… your equivalent to police officers."

"Aurors?"

"Yes, Ores."

Narcissa did not bother to correct the poor woman. Her main concern was the welfare of not only her child, but the other children as well.

A shared course of tension swept between them before the garden ignited with another flash of green. The flare had issued from Maxime's wand, this time immobilizing the wizard successfully. He fell to the ground with a loud thud and Narcissa let out a temperate whimper. Her Lord had been initially stunned, leaving him quite defenseless to the Headmistress' attacks. He lay on his side, his eyes closed, his breathing labored. He was alive. Just barely, especially with the amount of effort that it took to stun him into submission. Narcissa knew with just the right amount of spells, he would awaken and be back to his rightful self. She wished that he would be more willing to listen than he has been during their arrival to the estate.

The question as to why he had to forgo his basic preliminaries and tempt the Headmistress into a spar was placed well beyond her; he was not usually belligerent but he made it out to look as if he indulged in such vulgar activities regularly. He was a crazed man, and man with even more crazed notions. The blasphemy of it all was that he indeed was the man that society drew him out to be; there was no way around trying to conceal it.

Narcissa looked at her husband with sorrowful eyes. What had she done to deserve his mistreatment?

Madame Maxime straightened up, her eyes glittering. She captured to solemn expression of her Lady and let out a soundlessly exhale of air.

"'E will be fine." She turned to tell the matriarch of the Malfoy family. "'E is just stunned."

"I can see that," Narcissa said quietly.

A small house elf suddenly appeared, brandishing what looked like bandages and healing potions. Narcissa did not more nor told the little creature not to attend to him; she could not even if she wanted to. The elf was his and has never been known to listen to her.

"Wilfred," called the Lady of the house with a gentle voice. "Listen to my command. You are to take Lord Lucius home. Do you understand?"

With a grunt the little elf expressed his agreement. A swirl of elf magic entrapped them and with a flash. She watched mutely.

"Get away from me!" bellowed the Lord. The magic had awoken him from his sleep. Roused by the commotion, Lucius opened his eyes weakly and sat up, hissing as pain shot through his body. He caught the eye of Maxime and he glared at her for what she had done to him. Revenge was evident in his eyes. "I will not submit and be taken away like some common animal!"

"She stunned you because she had no other choice, my Lord." Narcissa said with panicked reservation. "What else did we have? You would no listen to reason. Your greed to take something you gave to these poor children has blackened your heart beyond recognition. Sometimes I wonder if you even have a heart."

Air caressed her face. As she closed her eyes and opened them back up, she found herself face to face with her husband. Of course it had been wrong of her to speak her mind so freely, but it was the truth. Was it wrong for her to keep such secrets from him? Any wife would want to express the same amount of dedication to their husbands and if it went against the morals of what a wife should do then so be it. She would gladly be reprimanded if that meant her husband was aware of the things that he was so terribly blind to.

"Forgive me, my Lord." she murmured, her voice strong despite how incredibly weak she felt. She had long since ceased fighting him. He would not strike, of course. He was not that type of Lord, anyway. "But, I cannot stand idly by and watch you destroy something that once brought so much joy to you."

"You know not of what joy is, wife." He said with a growl. "Joy had been taken from us that night, unless you have forgotten."

"I have not," she said sternly, twisting her features the best she could to resemble heated hatred. "What that harlot did to our son has never once left my heart or my memory. To provide her with any satisfaction by lowering ourselves below the mark in which we stand and stealing something that we gave to another is cause for concern. Certainly, you do not wish to make that sort of negation? Is this," she indicated around her and her husband followed with wary eyes," the type of example you want to make on your son? To show that when things do not go right that it is okay to harm and scare others until there is nothing left for them? I hardly think that someone as lost as you are can say that this is what you want. Either leave this establishment so I can take care of business or stay and find the compassion that I know you possess."

Narcissa ended her speech and turned from him, not wanting to see what will happen when he shifted through her words and found what he wanted to hear.

Most of their marriage had worked on him finding some piece of whatever she said wrong. This would no doubt be the same as the other times.

"I do not care about your words, Narcissa," came his reply sometime later. "I do not wish to see our son hurt, but I cannot allow this establishment to keeping running after all I have done for it."

"You cannot!-"

"Silence," he ordered with a dark terror. "You will not speak for the remainder of our visit. I came here to discuss the details of the Orphanage. I see now that it was a mistake to allow you and Draco to accompany me. Speaking of which, where is he?"

Lucius stood his ground, the nature of his question hanging around them like a canopy of poisonous fumes. The potency of it was dreadfully strong. None of the women answered.

"Where is my son, Narcissa?"

She shifted on her feet and said," Inside."

"The building?" he inquired. "Why is he inside when I explicitly told him to remain with you?

"Y-you… I-I."

"You what?" he asked. "You thought that going against my word was a good decision?"

"Lucius, please," his wife begged. "I- I did it to keep him safe. I did not want him to see such volatile rage."

With a quick, sharp movement, he slapped her across the face and she let out a strangled cry. He caught her by the arms, his grip hardening as he watched his wife sob in his arms. His breathing came in short bursts; his nostrils flared whilst he tried to calm himself down long enough to assess the situation.

Just then, a small figure emerged from the surrounding distance. It was a little boy and he appeared to be in dire need. Ms. Cole tore her horror-stricken face away from the Lord and Lady for a moment as to address the boy who was running toward them.

"Mistress!" he called, huffing as he ran as fast as his little feet could carry him. "Mistress, it is Hermione! She needs your assistance."

"Why on earth for?" Ms. Cole asked the child. "What is happening?"

"I do not know," he huffed breathlessly. "She is trapped in the Drawing Room and whoever is there will not let her out. Please, you must come!"

"You do not know who is with her?"

He shook his head. "Not I, Mistress. But others have seen a boy go in there with blonde hair and grey eyes. One of the little ones spoke to him and saw a terrifying creature appear before them."

A kind of nausea induced paranoia encompassed them. Lord Lucius' eyes then widened at the realization at what he had just done. Their son was close to commit an act of sin.

As he looked up, he caught the eye of his beloved wife.

Her eyes were wide with unadulterated panic.

A tear stained her precious cheek.

* * *

A resounding persistence of deathly silence encompassed them. To which, it grew more haunting by the minute and the only thing that could be agreed upon was the consequences of such actions given to someone that would be her Lord. The air grew unbearably tight; the children laughed pleasantly as Hermione was left to be swallowed up by her guilt and compassionate woe. It hardly seemed fitting to now just realize the error of her ways and what would come about from playing such a dangerous game. She had been so angry, so consumed with rage that she didn't stop to think what would come of it. Alas, she was hopeless.

The second that her hand connected with his flesh, she knew that she would regret it. The sound of it was deafening and caused a disturbance like neither of them could have possibly anticipated. It was deathly silent in the little drawing room. As she stood there, he could feel something building between them. The air grew impossibly tight and there was a kind of stiffness only brought on by unsatisfied anger. Hermione watched with horror as she watched his head turn slowly back around. She gasped in astonishment.

For his eyes were glowing with the passion of gold.

The irises swam to the sound of their own stream; thin lines of black appeared and mingled oh so beautifully with the gold as amber came forth from their depths and deepened the distorted trait. While she watched, Hermione backed away, tripping on her feet, her eyes locked with his. Even in her wildest of occasions, she never saw anything quite like it. It was stunning as it was dangerous; she had to get away.

Draco could feel the awakened senses of his ruling power as he turned slowly to the trembling girl. She had taken a step back, the panic in her eyes evident as she tried to ascertain what she had done and what was developing right before her eyes. He sensed her dismay, her regret. He could feel her fear and taste the dejection as it swam through her very veins. In all his life, he has never tasted anything sweeter than what the girl was willing to provide.

Hermione stood quickly.

The skirts of her dress rustled noisily as she tried to gather them and head for safer shores. Which were unavailable to her and she could not run.

With frenzied passion, she swept past him and tried to make her escape as inconspicuous as possible but it was to no avail. He caught her by the elbow, whirled her around and brought both his hands to her arms in order to effectively trap her. She was under his power, and he was under the beasts ruling. They would suffer together.

Never has the sensation of his turning ever been so strong; even under the fullness of the moon, there had always been some underlining reason for the turning. This was unlike all those other times. He felt this incredible churning of magic as his senses were numbed and then filled with the overflowing magic that was his beast. Like soft embers of a blazing hearth, her touch licked at him and sent a resounding patch of heat to flourish wildly across his flesh. It had been awoken the moment that the girl struck him, her skin breathing life into the dormancy that was its cell. He knew that the beast had been watching, but every logical, careful thought and action was thrown out the window the moment that foolish girl thought it proper of her to hit him. The beast wanted her; for whatever reason, he chose her and it was under her presumptions of trust that he was going to take her. A feral growl issued from his lips; it was low, deep, and frightening.

He needed to mark her. Never in his life had he believe any better moment than forcefully taking a flower from where is sat embedded in the earth. This flower was particularly wealthy. A subdued weed with no stunning attributes except its hidden grandeur to which it tailored to. There was something in this girl that he had to have, to obtain and he was going to get it.

He stalked around her slowly. In a half drawn circle, he was able to change the direction of her discourse and press her reverently against the wall of tomes that caught behind her. The scent of her fear grew steadily, taunting him, teasing him. It was under the arousal of some deep fantasy of his that his eyes began to glow even brighter with heavy gold. Burning, that was what it felt to be this close to her. Her rapid breaths fanned his face as her heart quickened to an unhealthy pace. He could practically feel the flutter and fear through the tight proximity of their bodies. He could see every freckle that kissed her face and the depth of her amber eyes as they caught the light. Again, she was not the most beautiful creature but beauty was in the eye of the beholder. He made her beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

As he pressed against her, he felt her magic flare out in retaliation. His eyes flickered to see what sort of damage it may hold but came to a startling conclusion.

All around them, the Fae were uniting together. Their numbers were large. An army of ready with bearing arms to attack. He let out a low growl, watching as they trembled and shriveled unto themselves in fear. They all seemed to take charge and fly forward; he snarled and it took only a second of despair to disperse them. It looked like appearances were indeed deceiving; they left their mistress to fend for herself. The girl was definitely frightened, but the fact that she had even motioned to move was quite intriguing. Underneath that tough façade was a structure of crumbling significance. He could not remember a time that he had smelled or senses anything to strong yet to incredibly undeveloped. It was like a delicious feast and he could not get enough of it.

The Fae, as he imagined, appeared again and with greater numbers. Although only several inches high, they appeared as a thick veil, their weapons drawn, and their eyes locked on their mistress, they were waiting for a sign.

What were they waiting for?

If she were a witch, why was she not attacking him? And her companions? Why were they in the stance of drawn reclusion? None of it made sense.

Then a thought hit him.

She could not control what was residing inside her. As especially disheartening as it was, he found sick satisfaction in the fact that the girl could easily get herself killed if she were not cautious. For years it has been locked up and she has only let it out in extreme bursts of fear and anger that it was able to be relinquished from its hold. If she could learn to control her magic long enough to work out the logistics, she just may make it out alive. Or, so he theorized. She was unable to control it, having not been taught the trials of their ways. He longed to know what her past was. Whatever it was, it had not been a giving invite.

The Fae could sense the disillusioned unbalance. They fought so hard to keep her stable, and now the time came that their Mistress was receiving the full force of the fearful stress, they all rallied up and placed themselves in front of her. At a moment's chance, they would attack but only if he became a threat.

They stood there in measured temperament

He turned to the girl and said," You must be very special if they feel the need to protect you." With a nod, he indicated to the Fae as they rose and fell in their positions. "Unfortunately for them, I am not about to give you up quite yet."

Draco circled around her once more in an attempt to ascertain the weakest advantage point. The Fae pressed tightly together and he could just make out the girl's

An evil thought occurred.

In a blink of an eye, he disappeared. He left no trace as to where he went, and as he shimmered back into existence, he could not help but curl his upper lip as she gasped aloud, whipping her head around, her hair following suit like rattling chains in progression. In her panic, she fell to the ground and her body began to tremble even more. If being frightened was could be a standing ovation, it certainly have been the cause for her. Tears fell from her eyes and down her cheeks like small streams. The air suddenly began salty. He gathered her sadness and fear came more from not knowing what he was going to do than what he was transforming into.

His changing was always startling, and even more so during the light of day. While his changing was gradual, hers was almost instantaneous.

Something was beginning to stir.

So, that was what it was. She was a young girl yet to feel the total explosion of her magic. Draco had wondered what made this one so different, and he believed he finally found it.

It was when the beast found the flower that he was able to understand. The pull he had felt while exploring had been her touching some sort of unknown voice of their tale. He still did not know what it meant and he would not stand there and pretend that he knew. Something was terribly different about her and as he stalked toward her, taking note of the frightened worry as it flashed across her lightly freckled face, he began perpetually determined to find out what it was about her that made his beast react as if she were the full moon and he was nothing but helpless to her powerful phases. He crept forward and grabbed her by the midriff. His nose became buried in her neck as she wiggled about like a helpless rabbit.

He regarded her coolly, his eyes fixated upon her like some fascinating piece of art meant to be explored with sensuous care. Hermione stumbled back and before he had time to react a formation of Fae had flown right in front of them, protecting her from his advancements.

Draco did not move.

His eyes were on her.

Her magic was whirling around her like a beast caught in its chamber. Like the wild beast that it was, the beautifully colored hued spectacle whipped about, causing the very room in which they stood to shudder in the delight of the awakening. He could feel It; it was nigh.

One by one the grandiose collection of books, furniture,

"why-l-let go of me!" she shrieked, not wanting to be anywhere near him. "Pl-please! I-!" Her breath hitched uncomfortably.

He did not. He continued to sniff her neck in deep, abiding quantities. A kind of sweet fragrance began to wash over him and as the partially turned beast continued to inhale her unique scent, it slammed into him like the fastest flying broom of the era.

"You certainly should have sat embedded in the earth, little flower," he growled. "Forbidden to be touched, looked at or even acknowledged. You aroused something in me."

"Wh-what is this nonsense! Release me at once!"

"I am afraid I cannot do that, Hermione." His voice was no higher than a whisper. "Not after the hardened touch of your hands. I must keep you near."

He knew that if it were not for being completely frightened and vulnerable to his touch and embrace, she would have gotten angry over his statement. Draco did not regret saying it in the slightest. It was the truth.

He wanted her and so did the beast.

"Do you think it was appropriate of you to hit me, Hermione?"

She shook violently, trying to force him to release her but it was to no avail. His grip on her was perpetually tight and there was simply no way that she would be able to set herself free.

"You do not know what you are doing," she pleaded in an imploring tone. "Release me, please…"

"Or what?"

"I may hurt you." she whispered. "I do not want to hurt anyone else."

Suddenly, a small concession of voices sounded behind the door. A disruptive bang rang through the drawing room. He turned toward the doors where the concerned whispers as the growing chaos ensued.

"Hermione!" a little voice called. "Are you in there?"

"S-stay away!" she called back, frightened. Her magic was now swirling around her in a tangible pattern. "Go get Ms. Cole!"

Draco frowned at her admission. Stunned by the startling knowledge of her even considering that she would hurt him, he began to toy with the idea of seeking further knowledge himself. As the footsteps of her fellow orphans died away, he took a better look at her. The girl was an utter mystery, and it was that catalyst that willed and urged him to want to know what she meant by what she said. Could she even will the power that she spoke of? She looked so fragile, so weak and paled in comparison to monsters that lurked in plain sight. Even he did not think she had it in her until he slipped into her mind and found what could truly be painted in the crimson blood and blackened wings of death.

"Show me what you have been hiding," he breathed into her neck. "What has to so reluctant to open up? To see the disciplined truth and gorgeous lies? Show me."

Uncertain by what he meant, she began to struggle once more in his boundless escape. Hermione thrashed about like a winged bird that could no longer soar.

With horror-stricken eyes, her past awakened and he was able to step him and see for himself that which was hidden from her sight.

 _The room was dark. The only light source came from a single candle and as the flame flickered in and out of conscious, Draco was able to make out the subtle changes of scenery and embark down the corridor and into a small room embellished with simple wooden floors and inexpensive silver fixings. He stood on the banks of misfortune; the night was crisp and the hungry wail of a newborn baby could be heard. Assuming that it come from the room, Draco moved forward, minding the long exposure of the room and what may lurk within its grasp. A muffled sound of a woman calling for calm sounded around from far away, but the calm never came; she was only met with irked retreat and the knowledge that something was astray. Draco was standing behind the woman as she attended to the newborn. With frantic glances over her shoulder, she began to coo and hush for silence. The babe seemed to comply with her mother's wish. Her eyes became wide and glowed with the stunning allure of amber._

 _"Hush, little one. We must not make a sound."_

 _Something moved behind her but she did not flinch. Several seconds later a man with equal caliber stepped into the room, turned and shut the door. He joined the woman's side and gave her a kiss on the cheek whilst looking down inside the crib, his eyes hard and his expression somber._

 _"How is she?"_

 _"Well," the woman replied smoothly. "As for me, I am adapting."_

 _"It will all soon be over, my dear," he caressed her cheek lovingly, looking into her eyes the best he could. "Everything will be back to what it once was."_

 _"You sound so certain."_

 _"I have to be," he admitted with penitence. "How else am I to serve you and keep you both safe?"_

 _The woman smiled brilliantly up at the man. With one fluid motion, she brought him down to her level and kissed him on the lips. Their joining was beautiful; their bundle of joy wiggled upon the mother's bosom. A soft gurgled sound issued from the newborn's lips, ending the kiss prematurely. The woman looked down and then back at her husband, giggling. It seemed to her that their daughter approved._

 _"She is quite restless, yes?" he asked, looking down at his daughter with dear fondness and fatherly love. "Has she taken rest at all during the night?"_

 _"Here and there," the woman admitted bitterly. "We have both been plagued with worry. How much longer must we stay here, Alan? I grow sick of running and hiding like a coward."_

 _"It is not safe, my love."_

 _"Says who?" she persisted with scornful pleading. "What is not safe out there that causes you to cringe and hurry us off into the night? What is out there that we must travel by day and only retire before sunset?"_

 _"You must not ask questions that you are not prepared to hear the answer to." He warned darkly. "The times are troubling Jeanevere, and we must protect ourselves from what could cause utter harm to us."_

 _"Do you believe we will ever find peace?"_

 _"I do."_

 _Alan removed his hand from behind his back and sat down. In his hand was a small nursery bottle filled with warm milk. As generous as his wife was with breastfeeding her, he thought she deserved a break. She declined it._

 _"I can feed my daughter myself, Alan."_

 _He watched with marked interest as she opened her nightgown and exposed her breast. Flushing, she situated her daughter in curve of her arm and helped her latch onto her nipple. Her squirming stopped as she fed on the milk of her mother._

 _"A man could try." He sighed._

 _"And a woman can scorn." She shot back. "I do not want anything from the fool, Alan. You know I do not like him."_

 _"He is the reason we are here."_

 _"And I suspect he is the reason we even started this herring journey in the first place." She gasped as their daughter moved and latched back onto her breast. "I do not trust him. He came to us in the brink of time, yes, but I cannot help feel that he had been the reason we barely escaped the fire. Wherever we go, he is always there. I cannot possibly feel safe until he is gone."_

 _A cry came from their newborn and they both looked down to see that their daughter was done feeding. Carelessly, Jeanevere kept her nightdress open for her husband to feast his eyes upon. With a twinkling smile, she shifted their daughter to the other arm and let out a humored laugh._

 _"You are straying to inappropriate ventures, my Lord."_

 _"My eyes are not," he said, hungrily. "My Lady is taunting me with her beauty. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief."_

 _His wife gasped brokenly as the words of her favorite play. Overwhelmed with emotion, Alan stood and pulled his wife into a hard, enduring kiss. Their lips caressed the others and as soon as they stopped, he said," I love you."_

 _"And I you."_

 _"I should hope so," he breathed, kissing her again and pulling away. "I shall remain vigilant. You finish feeding our child. Nourish her with your warmth and provide her with your enduring love."_

 _"I am only feeding her!" she laughed before looking down and running her palm lightly upon her head, smoothing her hair and humming. "It has already been three days and we have yet to spend quality time with her or name her for that matter. What shall her name be?"_

 _Alan looked at his wife heatedly. In the last three days he had almost lost both his wife and child. With all the commotion and rendering prevalence, they had failed to name their daughter. There were so many beautiful names to pick from, but only one had caught his attention. His wife had to agree._

 _"Hermione," he said looking straight at their daughter._

 _"Why, that is a gorgeous name!" his wife gushed with adoration. "How on earth did you come up with that name, my love?"_

 _"_ _King Menelaus of **Sparta** and Helen of Troy," he reminded her. "It means well born and messenger. I thought it would be fitting for a babe so darling. Do you not agree?"_

 _"I agree." She looked down at Hermione and smiled. "Hermione. What a pretty name for a darling babe."_

 _"Indeed."_

 _The woman by the gorgeous name looked up at her husband with wide, glowing eye before their luminosity flickered and died out. Even in the moonlight, the reflection of her sorrow shined brilliantly and parted the masses of the growing sea that was wedged between them. She closed her night dress and cradled her baby. Sound exploded a floor below and before they knew it, they were surrounded by their loyal guards and servants, one of which by name of Roberto Cummings, a foreign advisor sent from the far away isle of non-habitual reaches between Poland and Czechoslovakia. He greeted them with a welcoming smile and bowed upon request and permission to address them. His Master obliged him._

 _"Lord Granger," Roberto said in the tone of respect suited for his audience. Turning toward the woman, he extended his hand and took hers. "Lady Granger, how art thou?"_

 _Jeanevere looked at him as if one would look at an insect or shadow. One needed to be stomped upon and the other needed a light to be shined on it to execute all traces of its existence. In the months of knowing Mr. Cummings, her reserved nature never faltered. She had never warmed up to the man and a distinct memory of him placing his hand unannounced upon her swollen stomach was collective proof of disloyalty. He was not to be trusted, but her husband begged to differ. In the last months, they had grown quite close and he had become chief of his safety and the welfare of the estate and wife. A very wrong move, indeed._

 _"Adequately well, to say the least," she clipped dismissively. "Dare I ask how you are, Mr. Cummings?"_

 _"I am well, m'lady." a vile smile thinned his lips. "I have come bearing some good news. I do hope it serves to cheer you up."_

 _"You may speak." she said, looking at her daughter worriedly. She writhed about in her arms before settling back down._

 _"We are to depart to Great Britain in the morning." He said, watchfully. "We have found a haven there that is willing to house your company for the duration of the rest of the year. Our only concern is the long journey. We suggest that it be made in several stages."_

 _Her ears must have deceived her for she let out a startled cry and looked at her husband for clarification. When he gave none, she knew that they were in trouble._

 _"A haven?" she asked, marked with concern. "You think that a haven will keep us safe? There is a madman running around and who is after us. How can you remain so calm and collected-"_

 _"Jeanevere-"_

 _"I am not leaving this house, Alan," she snapped with vehemence. "I am tired of running. We have stayed here for weeks and there has been no sign of anything wrong. I believe the safest place for us is here."_

 _Alan dismissed himself from Roberto's side and walked over to where his wife sat eyeing him carefully while she attempted to read his expression._

 _"My Love, we must leave." He told her under his breath. "We must find shelter elsewhere."_

 _"We must stay." She insisted with the perpetual need to get through to him. "There is no danger here. I fear that danger will find us unless we stay and make fort here."_

 _"I understand that you do not want to leave, but-"_

 _"This is my home." she cried, cradling her daughter to her breast and broke down in sobs. "This is our child's birth home. Why do you want to take that away from her?"_

 _"I do not wish to, beloved." He said with equal pain," but my hands are tied. We must leave."_

 _It was with the look of crestfallen submission that she accepted what had to be done._

 _"Where is this haven exactly, Cummings?" asked Alan, reserved. "I have heard tales of Britain not being the safest place for us. Why do you wish to take us there?"_

 _"It has houses dozens of refugees over last several centuries. The church that we are going to is devoted to protecting those who cannot protect themselves."_

 _"We do not need that kind of protection." seethed Lord Granger. "What kind of man do you take me for, sir?"_

 _Roberto approached his Lord slowly, his stature paling in comparison to him. "I find you remarkable, I assure you. It is your grace and your devotion to your lovely wife and new daughter that I admire the most. After all this diversity… you have been able to spring back and rise even stronger before he had fallen."_

 _Alan regarded him calmly. "If that is true, then why do you wish to send us there? I do not see the reason to go out of our way to keep ourselves safe when we are perfectly fine here. Neither does my wife."_

 _"Your wife is still ill."_

 _"My wife is perfectly stable." A sharp eyebrow rose up his forehead. He looked down at him and asked, "Does she seem ill to you, Cummings? Or, do you have another motive in mind?"_

 _Something sharp grazed his back but he was not permitted to look behind him. His head was kept straight, his arm bent behind his back. Whatever was pressing against him was made dominate. He was being held at gunpoint._

 _"What possible motive would I have besides wanting to protect you, my Lord?" he asked, tilting his head. "All I want to do is keep you safe. Safe and sound, if it pleases you."_

 _He swallowed. The muscles in his throat worked painfully as he tried to keep his worry from his wife's insightful gaze. She would no doubt make a rather huge fuss of it otherwise._

 _"I see none, Cummings." He told him slowly before he moved his hand and touched the small gun. He noted the look of disapproval on his advisor's face. "I will not be threatened, however. Now, leave. I wish to adjourn to my chambers with my wife and child."_

 _"Of course!" he obliged, bowing deeply. "It is my humble rule to oblige my Lord._

 _Not soon after the incident, Cummings and the guards took their leave but not without addressing their Lady one last time. With a hard expression, she said farewell and gave her daughter all the devotion she deserved. Cummings did not say a single word and left. Alan stood in his place, his eyes fixated where Roberto once stood. Silence prevailed. Unbeknownst to him, his advisor was standing on the other side of the door; the man that would later hold their fate in his hand cackled and drew into the darkness._

 _Through the darkness that prevailed, a figure emerged and gave rise to an alliance that had not been foreseen._

 _"I take that everything is going accordingly?" a voice asked, the tone neutral. "I have not seen you so delighted in many months."_

 _"Oh, Deravacus," Roberto greeted with a friendly grin. "I should have known it was you."_

 _A figure began to emerge but before he could access where he was going, the image began to flicker._

 _"What news do you bring me?"_

 _A cruel grin stretched across his face as the howled wind shook him to his very core. "Our forces have converged."_

 _"Splendid, and Greyback? What of him?"_

 _"His alliance with Mr. Cummings is marked with approval." Said the man. "They will show themselves soon."_

 _A desperate cry issued from the room from whence he came and Roberto with the man of Deravacus stood with the fleeting minutes with triumphant smirks upon their delicate faces. It seemed that their comrades in armor. The cry of the young maiden was followed closely by the hearted scream of the man and the wail of a child. Inside the room, Cummings knew what was to happen and so did Draco. Not being able to bear the end to the night, he pulled away from the collective memory of some unknown provider. When he did, nothing could have prepared him for the declaration of war or the trauma that he had caused._

There was a kind of hushed silence that filled the room. Slowly, as if timed in a measured musical piece, the candles began to flicker and the floor began to groan. The walls conceded to cave; the shelves shook with an incredible force to which there was no encourager. The room seemed to be collapsing upon its own accord. Draco took one look before his eyes settled back on the girl. She was shaking. Her righteous hair was thrown about her head in a dramatic effect, her eyes dark and clouded with something that could only be prescribed as anger. There was a kind of glint that he never seen in them before. He looked deep into them and became startled at what he found.

The Fae had drawn their weapons once more. This time, their faces expressionless as it were unrecognizable. In that moment he came to realize that he had something terrible and he was in great debt to fix it. With the purest of demands in heart, he turned, his brows furrowed, and proclaimed a confession.

"I am-"

"No!" she screamed, throwing her hands to her head and sobbing. "No!"

Tears of a shielded past ran down her cheeks in tandem. As he watched one tear slide down her cheek, he felt a pulse within the room. He looked around, taking into account that the fruitful attempt of freedom of the drawing room was not from natural occurrences but rather the girl's inability to control her emotions. Whatever he just saw was not something she ought to have seen; he came to terms with his mistake and just as he was about to rectify the situation, a trigger was unleashed.

Quite out of nowhere came a resounding crash of glass hitting wood. After a few seconds after the initial impact, another crash sounded, then another, and then another until the whole room was filled with the chaos that had been chained down and kept jailed inside the girl. The girl's knee became weak and bucked. She fell to the ground, her hands still clenching her head. She did not move as more objects flew from their thrones and flew across the room. One by one, books began to fly off their shelves whilst furniture turned upside down where they were arranged. She was trying to keep herself anchored to the world but nothing seemed to want to keep her grounded. Trapped, that is what she was.

And, true to that knowledge, Hermione became incoherent with the bent up rage that beseeched her.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Draco stepped forward, but the girl was quick to reprimand him.

"Stay back!" she cried, thrusting a hand out, her fingers spread wide as if to draw whatever vengeful spirit that lied within. "Stay away from me!"

"I intend to help." He implored. "Let me assist you."

"No, you do not."

"Let me help," he pleaded, worried now. "I can-"

"No!" she growled, a hiss issuing from her swollen lips. She looked up. Black eyes met that of grey and Draco knew that he was not speaking with the girl that he had introduced himself to just an hour ago. He was dealing with the mother of the girl and the loss that whatever act that he paid witness to. His eyes became sad; he only wished to understand, to know why his beast felt the incredible pull that it did and to see if there was anything at all that he could do to ease her woes. Alas, he was wrong.

"You have taken my home, my family. What more can there be to steal? What more can you possibly want?" she screeched, standing now. Ceasing to tremble that once coursed through her, the possessed girl moved away from him and whispered, "You have done enough, you beast."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** As y'all can see, I left it on a cliffhanger. The storm has a arrived- do not worry. I don't plan on dragging this on forever. I do plan, however, to end the first part after chapter nine. I hope y'all like what happens between Draco and Hermione. It finally came to me what I wanted to happen after finishing Merlin and re-watching Sweeney Todd (R.I.P Alan Rickman. The man could SING!) _

_Y'all will see ;)_

 _Nothing but a single idea is taken from both! D: I Solemnly Swear!_

 _As I said, the end of the first part is coming to an end. I will let you know what the actual dates that inspired me to even write this work fiction. I said it before- I couldn't write it in the time period that these historical events take place. Instead, I opted for a more familiar time period. I know y'all don't mind and if anything it will give us all a little history lesson :)_

 _I may need to go back and add things here and there as it is unedited. I used to have a guy for that. Wonder where he went?_

 _Anyway! :) I apologize for the late update. I'm back in business now, babes!_

 _Take care. Muah!_

 _-Carolare Scarletus_


	10. Chapter Nine

_As always, enjoy_

* * *

 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Nine_

 _.~._

* * *

~*.*~

He stares into uncertainty,

caught between what is right

and what is terribly wrong.

Beauty is Beast

~*.*~

* * *

A heartrending numbness spread through him. Beginning in his extremities, the coldness penetrated to the very core of his being, stopping him where he stood. It was upon her marked words that a single feather could have been dropped and the whole world could have stopped churning upon hearing it. In that very instant, Draco's heart ceased beating; the blood in his veins stopped spilling and there was a deathly glow about him that even the Fae did not trust. His eyes became dilated and a disembodied growl issued from the thin protruding air. Permeating and becoming as rustic as the nightly terror that possessed them, the boy turned into an unholy creature. His eyes remained on her, his mind surely playing some sort of sick, horrendous game on him. She had not said what he thought she did; it was just his mind playing a game. A game that he has played so often that it was instilled inside his psyche to win. If so, then why did he feel so betrayed and known this kind of misery?

Time suspended between them. Her eyes blazing, the air between them heavy and experimentally stalled. It was a potent mix of steady anxiety and furnace by mutual agreement. A hard expression crossed her features; she had balled her hands up and was now facing him with all the unadulterated hatred and resentment of years of unnoticed justice. She became rigid. Firm in her standing and the proclamation that she made seconds prior, she was lost to her words and the knowledge of years of indescribable suffering.

For a moment, he believed that she was gone until what she said came back with a degree of defying sentiment. Foreboding anger was being born from the words that she spoke. It threatened to crack his very existence. He tried to push them away and retain some dignity in the dark of his subconscious; his beast threw itself against its iron cage, desperate to get out. He has heard the words before, but never has it be so distinct, so crystal clear. The spirit of the woman stood before him, anticipation evident in the way that she positioned herself. The Fae lined up, ready to strike; he kept his ground, eyes searching hers.

' _You have done enough, you beast.'_

He looked at her, anger rising like a blaze of glory.

Why these words were sparking such fury, he would never know. All he could convey was that he hated her. In that moment, he hated her for what she said, what she was insinuating.

Memories of what he saw circulated around him in a haunting dance. From meeting them and their child to the indefinite source to which allowed him to pay witness to what would eventually unfold, he was aware of every little bit of sorrow that this woman was unfortunately exposed to. Who had committed such a terrible act? What had become of this beast that she spoke of? Surely, it was not him? No, it could not be. He could not be the beast. She was not thinking with the purest of thoughts, much less speaking clearly. The horrid joke of it all was that she was to never tell her tale, but she was so willing to do so at all costs.

Years of a sheltered existence came crashing down; he was beginning to be familiarized how cruel the world truly was and see it for what it was.

Scornful, repulsed.

It was as if the taunts of his childhood were playing back to him; he was to live his life thus far through the verse of this woman's poor lineage.

He began to lose what little control he had.

"You are just like him," she finally said, eyes glimmering. She shifted slightly where she stood, but those eyes remained on him. Cold, distant but at the same time so presently there. Draco's eyes gravitated to hers, curious as to what she was saying. "The magic inside you resembles that of the beast that took our lives, which drove us away from our home and chased us to the end of the world. He took what was most precious to us and now he resides in you. You are a _monster_."

In all his life he knew not when the words rang so true. His whole life has been lived in recluse; he has lived in a sheltered, protective company and for what? The monsters that believed that he was the cruel one, that he was capable of all the wrong things they accused him of. Images of his past flashed predominantly before him. It was through this window of visual escapades that he was able to pinpoint the exact moment of anger, of hopelessness. Children were afraid of him, adults scorned him- the only love that he ever known came from his parents and the few mentors carefully selected to keep his secret. But, what secret were they keeping? That he was born Beast, and was never given the chance to really explore, to grow? Like so many of the others, he was tossed into oblivion, only to be spat back out. Rejection was the foulest of commodities and he has been rejected far too many times to know what it tasted like.

His head snapped sharply. He was acutely aware of the magic that was starting to collect between them like some heavy fog. This early morning excursion was turning into one hell of a storm, and he was its conductor, its commander. It has been years since he has felt such a powerful drive. Last tasted such strength that he did not know what to do with it. All in all, he felt disgust, torn and ashamed. No boy his age was supposed to feel this way, and he was sane enough to know who was to blame.

It was the girl's fault. She was to blame. Whoever this brat thought she was, she had another thing coming. To elicit such reactions from him without even having a cause had him completely taken aback, completely vulnerable and he did not like it one bit. She was the martyr of his anguish and the deliverer of his end. If it had not been for her accusations, he had not have awoken and he would not be in the middle of total recall and breakdown. She must be disposed of.

There wasn't much to gain by closing his eyes and letting the tides of his mind sweep him away from the unforgiving reality except for finally letting go of everything that ever held him back. What he left behind could not compare what he had gained; what he discarded was the treacherous hands of fear, of anger and anxiety; depression and loneliness soon lost the war that waged inside of him for years; the shackles of the iron chains that once kept him captive rotted away, allowing him to break free and roam his subconscious as a tourist and not a prisoner; even the beast did not dare present himself during the time in which he was awake. For once he was not tainted, but were filled with peaceful images the likes of which he has never seen, the serenity of the night, and the twinkling of the stars, a fabrication of his own mind.

He opened his eyes, something that he had not realized he had done and was welcomed by a sharp pain in his chest where the girl's words had pierced his skin. Sweating profusely, eyes widened in complete terror. He tried desperately to calm himself, to bring himself back from the clutches of the nightmare but he just could not. The images remained ever fresh in his mind, reminding him of just how much control he did not have and just how sick the demon within him could truly be. He had no concept of the passage of time during his time in lucubration when he was constantly shifting between consciousness and feign reception, never remaining in either for too long but the only thing he knew he was aware of the presence inside him that time, or anything else for that matter, were nothing but ancillary to him.

He could not escape the reality of his world no matter how much he tried. The collision of the two worlds was almost too much to bear and he soon found himself more shaken than he had ever been. The Drawing Room was spinning, forcing him to his knees. His hands reached out and he spread his fingers in an attempt to draw himself out of the nightmare that had been fixed for him. Books flew above him; the floor shook violently and the walls seemed to have taken it upon themselves to crack under the force of him losing control.

Then as sharp and unexpected as her words came out, he began to change.

At first, it was his eyes. Once grey and the contributing pigment of the hollow moon, they turned into the ghastly hue of extinguished coal with the slightest intimation of gold. A roaring fire burst through the ring of his irises, consuming his gorgeous orbs and bringing forth feelings previously unknown. Claws tore from the tips of his fingers while his body contorted into a painful shape. The smooth contours of his blossoming body was now jagged, shifted into impossible, rigid forms. It was like watching an innocent animal become tainted by disease and feral. A boy who once travelled the world in a listless manner was now a tangible representation of every folklore and nightmare. The words in which people spoke of were exactly what he became- a monster, a _beast_. Nothing was covered and nothing was thrown without vain.

He became that of legend himself. In a world where witches and wizards ran amuck in tailored reclusiveness, beasts like him and every other creature was something that truly was the epitome of terror. He lived in the darkness, was the moon and the shadows. He was everything that he was always told he was not. They had lied right to his face! Upon the epiphany, a burning rage began to consume him as he became one with instinct. Draco stepped closer, his eyes drawn into an unimpressive glare. His features were hard and stabbed with bitterness. A deep growl issued from whence the boy once occupied. Now, as he looked at her, his heart taking course with the supply veins in his arms and neck, he, as well as the beast, spoke of what happened during that fateful night.

Magic swirled around him, lashing out and hissing at even the smallest of movements. It became his anchor, something in which he fed upon that kept him sane. Though, it was the very thing that he wished he had not done. His magic was unstable, much like the girls as she maneuvered behind the Fae, eyes wide with shock, shaking in fear. They were so much alike, and she did not even know it. So much so that it startled even him. She feared it, whereas he craved it. So much alike, but oh so different, indeed.

The girl looked around her, caught and ensnared by an unseen foe. Her features became hard as she formed the words that she was so longing to convey. Just as suddenly, they died on her lips. She watched with horror as the boy that she had seen through the eyes of her vessel as she remained in blissful slumber twist and painfully from one form to the other; no words could adequately describe the sight of it. Bone on bone, blood draining and refilling with enriched nourishment; it was very much like those pictures of their kind… slow and fast at the same time he began to change and she felt her body quiver involuntarily at the thing that she brought to the surface.

Just as quickly as he was there, he was gone.

The spirit looked around, frightened.

"Where are you?" she demanded, dead set on forcing him to make his presence known. "Why do you hide?"

He fell between the earth and the beyond, watching the transpiring scene unfolded right before his very eyes. Fae of all sizes and troubles came to protect her; his fell on them, trying to seek out a weakened vantage point but found none. He would have to wait.

" _Everywhere_ ," came an echoing whisper."

"Why do you not present yourself?"

"You are unworthy."

"You know not what you are missing." The divine spirit proclaimed. "There is so much more than what you saw."

"Why do you care that I know?" he said in a deep, inhibited voice of valor. It seemed to be coming from every direction, never once settling in any specific avenue. She was alarmed by his sudden response, but nonetheless defeated in her commands. "You have shown me everything. You have said enough."

"There is _more_." she pleaded. "So much _more_."

If she thought of him as beast, then why try to bargain with him? He was supposed to elicit fear with his prey, not try to reason with it.

"You are afraid of the truth, Beast." she said, voice strong as ever. "It that the reason you run and hide? Are you that much of a coward?-"

"I am no coward." A disembodied voice called out to her.

She felt his breath fan across her cheek first, followed by the dominant presence of the feline beast. He towered over her, his eyes filled with hatred and disgust, much like the same jeers he would get from everyone else.

"Yes, you are."

"I am not like that man." He told her as calmly as his beast would allow.

"Then why do you not face me?"

She felt him shift behind her, though he remained silent.

"You are aware of them, are you not?" she asked, her voice weak and vulnerable. Where had her bravado ran off to? "That the one I speak of is not man, but beast."

Draco tilted his head sharply to the left, his eyes burning. "What if I am?" he asked, voice deep, unwelcoming. "I am aware of a great many of things."

With a predatory step forward, he took into consideration of their situation. The Fae had once again formed a barricade. Their weapons drawn, ready to attack. He looked at each of them slowly, taking into account their uniqueness and vulnerability. They trembled in his almighty presence but their formation never wavered.

"Then you are just like the others." she whispered, magic conjuring around her and lashing out like a whip attempting to train the air that surrounded her. "Just as conniving and evil as all of them!"

A bolt of magic shot out as her hair and eyes became emblazoned with years of built up anger. Draco flew backwards, landing on his feet with expertise, his hands resting on the ground. His eyes make quick work of analyzing his surroundings. He found that the girl had disappeared, but her legacy had lived on. All around him chaos broke out. Books and china flew from the walls and landed where he waited, adding to the miraculous pile that had formed around him. Paint was been torn from the walls, and the chandelier grabbed by its gorgeous rings and dropped to the floor. It shattered into a million pieces upon the deafening impact.

Draco moved with the clarity of a monstrous statue. His movements were fluid and bled marvelously into one another. It was like watching water run from a stream and clouds bring nourishment to a long drought. The spirit cared not. In that moment, she was only focused on the pain.

"I came to them in need! I trusted them when I could not even trust myself, and what for? To have them betray me in the end! You are so much like them!"

One by one, the glass of the drawing room began to break; it was hell on earth as material and furniture were ripped to shreds, books tossed and burned, their pages falling like burning ember of rain down upon them. Draco looked up,

He couldn't say what compelled him to it, but before he was able to stop himself, he lunged forward and attacked the poor girl. Be it her words or the simple fact that the urge to hunt was neigh, her screams were a symphony that fell upon his ears in cherished caresses that he fed on in order to live. The only thing that made him feel close to human was just that- becoming the thing of nightmare and revealing what true terror was. As he recoiled back and watched the Fae come back into formation.

They had protected her, as to be expected.

Why, however, was it a complete and utter mystery? Why would these creatures go out of their way, risk dying all for some girl they barely knew. Unless… oh, yes…Unless there _was_ a reason to protect her. With a deep growl, he disappeared into thin air, confusing the creatures of nature and the spirit that had taken over the girl's body. She was unlike any spirit he has encountered, and he has attended one of the most ambitious schools in England. Hogwarts was practically drowning in the dwellers of the land, those lost to the sea of death. In all his years, he has never met a spirit who has been able to communicate through the usage of vessel, and to atone for a mistake or forewarn an event was something he has never heard of, either. He watched the girl through the veil of existence and the in between, eyes still glowing the burning passion of embers.

The Fae formed together, flourishing their weapons as if forming back together once more. They were so ready to draw when their lady held up a hand and looked at him. He could feel her inquisitive mind work like a towering clock clicking with atrocious knowledge. Time did not escape them, but it surely felt like it did. Their tiny faces were chosen for repulsion. They lined up together, protecting their mother giver and becoming an alliance that would never have seemed possible. As he pulled back, ready to strike another blow, his eyes became wide with wonder and for a moment he was held suspended in time. The girl had drawn her left hand up and was now chanting some ancient runic words that fell to his unknowing ears. Whatever she was saying had cause a significant stir to shift through the Fae's ranks. She was now glowing, balancing on a single nacreous orb that kept her from falling.

The lot of them bared their weapons, brandishing them as they fell forward in formation. Just as quickly, Draco pushed backward to analyze their movements. There were so many of them that it made it very difficult to know when and where they would strike next. As he watched, a group of them disappeared only to reappear right before him, firing their mystic powers in front of him. He flew back, landing on all fours, his head snapped up and he let out a deep, feral growl. He had not been expecting that, and he was not pleased to have been fooled.

He thought back to his first lesson early in his studies. There had been a forming coalition that took place within him as well. Recognition if it were possible. A sort of divination drawn from the mouths of the Three Sisters themselves, it dawned upon him the reason behind their protectiveness and readiness to seek death as if it were an old friend. They were obviously ready to do so, even at the cost of their own lives they would fight because she held something far greater than every one of them put together.

Once he discovered what he believed was the missing piece, he appeared before her once again to wreak havoc on her perfect world. His watchful eyes shifted from the girl to the Fae. He wondered about their possessive nature, their drive to protect her.

He found the connection.

The startling resemblance, the fiery captivation; he could have been blind not to see it sooner. She was the spiteful image of her daughter, an uncanny replication of what she used to be- wild, brown hair, deep dark eyes that, in the perfect lighting, turned amber. Orange and red within one concept, they were the exact variation of wood. She stood in front of him in all her celestial glory, the retelling of her tragic ending playing in her eyes, taking residence in the walls, pulling the secrets and depth of their conviction from the books that surrounded them. Her story was a sad one, and needed to be told. There was indeed an aged old story that was desperate to get out, and by Gods he would let her tell it.

She was as breathtaking as she was unstable.

The spirit looked at him but did not say a word. This seemed to disturb her protectors. They were acutely aware of his quick mind as he processed the information that was unwillingly given to him. She appeared to know exactly what he had found out, and immediately drew her arm up to ward off the Fae as they tried to attack again.

"Do not harm him," she looked to friends of formation. Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. "He has done nothing wrong. I am to blame for misreading him and leading him astray."

"You say that now, but only moments before you were accusing me of a crime that I could not have possibly committed."

"That was before I got to see the real you."

"How would you know about the real me?" He then accused her with a growl. "What you said was perfectly adequate; I am a beast and must be feared."

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." She murmured thoughtfully before her attention was brought back to him.

There was something uniquely intriguing about him.

"Very clever," he observed, narrowing his eyes in the most condescending way. "I suppose that the years apart have not only clouded your judgment, but have allotted you the time to observe which that cannot be replaced?"

"I have had a lot of time to reflect."

"Need I enquire?" He asked bravely. "Do not waste my time with trivial things. There is a reason you have shown yourself and I want to know why."

"Find composure and we will talk about what I have come to reveal."

Draco was not able to place what she meant into words, but it soon became clear that she meant for him to calm down. His beast was rattling inside him like it was trapped in an enclosed cage. It might as well have been because he felt suffocated.

He had not noticed then, but there was an air about him that was a bit too frightening. They were in the middle of war; the battle had yet been won, and they were holding fire until one of them chose to call their move. Everything about it was a whole big chess game, and he was winning. She did not know then, but the chances of checking mate were incredibly low. He was to win this God-forsaken game.

As the space between them became calm, the object that had been levitated into the air found peace and shattered upon hitting the floor. The books that were plucked from the shelves were dropped and the glass that was lay like little crystals at their feet stood still. The Drawing room was indeed left as it had been as they consoled each other and she opened to tell her tale.

"I was but sixteen when I met him," she told him in a low voice. "We knew each other through our families and grew up with each other as many betrothed do. I did not know then, probably not until later in my life, that I was born for greatness. Born to take care of something so beautiful that it quite literally became a means to an end."

She told him of her birth, how she met her husband and the responsibilities of her family and the gift that was accidently bestowed to her even before her arrival. It was through trials and tribulations that she was able to harness the powers of her bringing; as she stated, it was not an easy task but she learned to love and adore it. Nothing made her prouder or more in tuned with herself than doing what she has done. Then, her tale turned darker. It was upon meeting Cummings, the man that she showed him, that things started to go black. She knew from the beginning that he was not a man to be trusted and that his reason for sticking around was nefarious if she was reasonably truthful with herself. She told her husband, but he did not listen. They died saving their daughter. It was only now that she learned the truth of where she ended up.

"Someone saved her." she whispered, remembering what happened so long ago. "The house went up in flames; I had been knocked out by some great beast and my husband... he did not suffer for long. He died trying to save our daughter." She lifted her vessel's hand up to indicate a deep longing before dropping it lifelessly to her side. "You can see why I do not trust you. There are so many things left that no amount of parchment or ink could ever relive the tale. I am afraid that I am at my last breath."

Draco looked at her with the look of concern. A resounding part of him wanted to know what happened during those last faithful hours and what it could possibly mean for him.

"Now, you are aware." she said, crying after some time. Her body shook with inconsolable sobs, forcing the walls to bend down toward them. Her heartache was having tremendous effect on their surroundings for everything that had been thrown at him was starting to sizzle into ash. The Drawing Room turned back into the image that it once was. Fire had caressed the room and engulfed it in a cloud of smoke. The smell of it lingered as if it had been burning for the past eleven years, waiting for him to see. "They took my life and my husband's and left our child alone in a world full of hate. A man that we trusted. A man that owed us his very life and that is how he repays us? By loitering with imbeciles and greed?"

"Surely, he had his reasons?"

"That man defiled the sanctum of our trust!" She screeched, objects flying around once more and crashing against the fragile walls. "The bastard was hungry for more than we gave him! In all my life, I have never met someone so greedy."

It was sudden, and before he had time to reflect, the words came stumbling out.

"You are the mother." He deadpanned through the haze left between them. He could see the sad expression of the truth as his voice came to rest in her vicinity. As it did, it became all too clear. "You are the spirit who showed me the memory."

She was the Protector.

This spirit had been given a chance to protect something so precious as the beginning of Magic. She let out a startled gasp, her adopted eyes growing wide with fright. She held her breath, and again said nothing.

When she looked at him once more, a shimmering veil surged between them and he stepped in.

"Yes," she whispered, pained by her own execution. "I am."

"What is your business here?" he asked, driven to know she choice him to revel herself to. "Why do you see it important to tell me of your woes? What am I to you?"

"My daughter is in danger." She told him simply. "I need a vessel to pass it on."

Draco became enraged when she did not elaborate. "Pass what on?"

"She is in danger."

"Danger," he tested the word ruefully. "Who wants to cause her harm?"

When she did not answer, he chose another power.

"Allow me to see," he asked for her permission to see. "Let me see for myself."

She looked to him. It was not her who showed him.

He breached her line of comfort, all the while the full force of it falling down on him heavily at what he did.

The Beast betrayed the Beauty.

* * *

 _He walked down a treacherous hall and came across a scene all too familiar. What had been left untouched had gracelessly been presented to him on a platter of mischief and unreason. In the shadows stood several figures, their eyes gazing up at the window, watching, listening. He could feel his spine tingle from the sense of dreadful comings. Something was to happen tonight. A part of him thought it insane, but it was a legitimate thought nonetheless._

 _Death was pungent in the air._

 _It was riddled with his presence._

 _Murmurs arose like fog, and with careful steps, he was able to follow them. He arrived at a door. As soon as he stopped in front of it, it swung open to reveal a rather queer looking room. A table sat as the main focus with men of different statues seated around it. As the host, the man that he had was introduced by the spirit during his first glimpse into the past, sat at the head of the table._

 _Alan had his arms folded before him, his expression dark. Apparently, he had just been told something that he was not too thrilled to hear._

" _There is reason to believe that there will be an attack tonight," his council member said._

 _Alan drew his hands to his face and was thinking with the upmost contempt. In the next room, his wife and child slept, unaware of the potential hazard that the world was about to forge. He was consumed with so many emotions that he found himself losing interest in what his men were saying and focusing on the men behind the attacks wanted. If they did not find out soon, he worried that they would have to relocate yet again._

 _His wife's words came back to him. Just as she was not keen on having to be moved, he was not either. He looked at his men and nodded._

" _What evidence do you have?"_

 _His attending men spoke all at once until he lifted a hand to silence them._

" _Schuster was the one to scout them out, my Lord." said one of his men at the far end of the table._

" _And, what did he find out?"_

" _I am not sure you want to hear."_

" _Whatever it is," their Lord said as he tried to control his voice," I can take it. I need to know in order to protect my wife and child. Not to mention to protect every life of the men and women who elected themselves to our care. Their lives will not be out of vain."_

 _The same man shifted in his seat, fixed the buttons of his coat, and proceeded to inform him of what they found out. "Cummings, my Lord. We have evidence that Cummings is behind some of the attacks."_

" _Why on earth would you say that?" he asked quietly._

" _Cummings is not a trustworthy man-"_

" _He has protected me and my family ever since this whole ordeal came into fruition!" he yelled, standing and knocking over their glasses of scotch and whiskey. "I have had enough of your deriding nature! Ever since he had been promoted, you all have been testing my patience. If you have reason to believe that he is not loyal, then please come forth with some valuable information in that regards. Otherwise, do not waste my time with such trivial things."_

" _But, my Lord-"_

" _Enough," he snapped, motioning to leave. "I am exhausted and must rest. Keep watch and we shall talk more about this tomorrow morning. Goodnight."_

 _The threat of the inevitable was heavy. Draco could feel his advisor's worry. Their words were not getting to him, and it looked like a lost cause as he made his way to the door and left them without another word. He travelled down the corridor and to a separate wing of the estate where he knew his wife and child lay._

 _Silently he waited._

 _Jeanevere was reading soundlessly to her daughter when she first heard the distinct howl of the beast. It was her nature to believe in such ludicrous things and to find that her mind was fond of trickery, but none such trickery came from only a handful hours of sleep and only a wooden door to protect them. Nothing has, as it has always been since their discovery and their arrangement. She found no such arrangement as cruel and unforgiving as allowing some ravenous fiend to protect her and her family other than Cummings. Her heart betrayed her. Slowly, she walked away from the picturesque painting and toward the scene that was sure to slay them all. The woman knew that she was daring more than she ever bargained for; it was only in her truest content that she wished to see what was causing such a ruckus and investigate the possible lead to finding a solution._

 _It is hard to decipher just how long they have been running. Years, for certain. Ever since she became betrothed to her husband some years ago, she has always been on the run. It was a metaphoric illustration that has only come into fruition in the last few months. The weeks leading up to the birth of their daughter have been the hardest and most strenuous. She could only pray that things got better._

 _Silently, she took another look at the glowing embers in the hearth, mesmerized by the bewitching beauty. If she not known any better, she would have fallen into such warm and never returned. She wished she could, however. To escape, finally, from years of seclusion. All to appease some hopeless dream that her world was not filled with the monstrous beasts that were after her and her daughter. What she would do to give the powers that were bestowed upon them away, just to live a single day of normalcy. Even that was selfish because who would want to give up such powers? Not her, that was certain._

 _She stood from her comfortable chair, gathered her sleeping gown closer to her body and walked over to where her daughter lay. Her tiny form was huddled into the most peaceful of positions. Her hands were curled up and drawn underneath her chin. She looked pleasantly calm, undisturbed, without a care in the world. Oh, how she wished to keep her that way. Her daughter and husband were her entire world and if anything were to happen to either of them, she did not know what she would do. The budding experience within her would surely take strange advantage of her deplorable state and destroy everything that she has worked so hard to conceive. That would not happen. Not as long as she was the Keeper._

 _Ever since being given the gift, she has been targeted by many._

 _In the silence, she could hear the betraying wind and the fortifying whispers of her foes as they came together to transpire against her. Again, she knew not if it was her hysteria misguiding her or if what she was supposedly was hearing was true premonitions. All she could rely on was what she felt in her heart and the subtle prophecy she has yet to decipher._

" _What are you thinking, wife?" lips found their voice in her throat. A breathless ache swept through her as she felt the arms of her husband wound themselves around her form. She became lost in his embrace, hopelessly so. The only comfort she had was in him. They watched in silence of their sleeping child._

 _Jeanevere leaned back against him, "Nothing, husband."_

" _Liar," he chastised. "Do you know it is a sin to lie?"_

" _I was not aware." She turned and was gathered into the arms of her loving husband. "If I am lying, my Lord, so are you. I sense your trouble. Now, tell me what it is."_

" _Nothing," he began to tease her with light strokes of his thumb. Nimble and exploring, they found themselves touching her in places that ought to be left to the bedchambers. "Shall we adjourn?"_

" _Do you not want to say goodnight to your daughter?" she asked in a distracted manner. With a small chuckle, she looked down at their child and said," She has been waiting all day for her father to answer to her. The sweet darling fell asleep."_

" _Ah," he corrected himself quickly. Wanting to please his wife and wish his daughter a night full of slumber, he leaned over the bassinet and gave their child a loving upon her forehead. To the touch, she shifted in her sleep, reaching for that warmth that plagued her dreams. When she found it, she settled back down, her tiny fingers wrapped around her father's large one. "How can I forget?"_

 _She let out a merciful giggle, something unknown for her to do. While she turned around to face her husband, Jeanevere's arms found home around his waist. He brought her forward and embraced her so._

" _Thank you," she whispered softly._

" _For what, my dear wife?"_

" _For loving me." She looked up with approving eyes. "For giving us our daughter."_

" _Any fool would have given up upon the first obstacle." He murmured begrudgingly. "Not I."_

" _Not you." She agreed with a smile. "And, that is why I love you so. You have shown such compassion to me despite my many flaws. Have come to terms with what I am and along the way, you have made a great many of enemies."_

" _An enemy is indeed an enemy of mine."_

" _How do you find the patience, my love?" Her inquiry would definitely be the death of her. "What is your secret to being so blessed with such reservation and calmness?"_

 _Her husband thought for a moment before the answer shined its blinding light in front of him. Quite literally so. She was standing right in front of him, an image right out the words of the scripture. How can she not see the significance of their union, the love that was bestowed upon them both and the gift that the Gods blessed them with? After so many years, was his wife that significantly deprived not to know?_

 _It was evident in his eyes that her question caused some discomfort. She never meant to disturb him; then again, she never meant for the question to ever come out at all. She supposed she was only trying to calm her mind. His words against her own. And it has been showing her some nasty details to which she would like to forget. She leaned into him, finding him the soundless passage that she knew he could be. Their breathing melted into one solid platform and their hearts synchronized into one harmonious lullaby._

" _I suppose it comes with the territory." He told her finally, a whisper, an unsettling truth. "Now, what to do with my wife… I have yet to bestow you with five years of marriage and the beautiful child that you gave me."_

 _His wife giggled as she felt his wandering hands graze her stomach then move upward to palm her supple breasts. He inhaled, committing her floral scent to memory in case there would ever be a time that he would momentarily forget. It was the usual play; thus, their predicament now. She was completely smitten by him. His touched did things to her body that would be too dishonorable for a woman of the time and age to speak of. But, she did not care. She turned then, pressed herself against her husband and claimed him over and over again with the sweet pull of her lips. He claimed her too, just as powerful as she._

" _I love you," he grunted from the sensual pleasure she was conjuring. "Gods, I cannot say it enough!"_

" _Then show me," she said pleadingly._

 _He looked at her, finding them both had pulled away from the enclosure of their daughter's bassinette. They stood in their bedchambers with only the layer of their night dresses keeping them from one another._

 _His eyes betrayed him and they become lost to each other._

 _The hours were too kind to them, however._

 _Night waned blissfully slow, and Jeanevere soon found herself drawn to a call that she had not heard in some time._

 _She rose from the bed that she shared with her husband and proceeded to get up. After securing her night gown around her body, she walked over to the door that connected their room to their daughters. A soft glow immigrated from the small enclosure. She smiled._

 _Lost to wanting to see her one last time, she quietly opened the door and stepped in. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw._

 _An ungodly creature stood in the middle of the room, hovering over her, its relentless form a great smudge in the canvas of the room. A deep growl emitted from somewhere deep, and she soon came to realize that it came from the creature. In the moonlight, his image became clearer. His flesh was covered with scars and layers of fur. He appeared dirty and contaminated by something foul._ _He was looking at her daughter with the most awful of expressions, the pure lust evident in his eyes as he turned and greeted them with a nasty grin. They were round with golden delight; he was no man of God. He was a beast._

 _Her body shook with the intensity the likes of which she never felt as she gazed at the beast. Her eyes became wide and her body frigid. As she stared, petrified, the beast turned and welcomed her with the most illustrious expression._

 _It's eyes illuminated by the moonlight, it spoke." You have a beautiful daughter." It leaned toward the babe and sniffed her. He released a pleasured breath. "So pure and untainted. I want it."_

 _Jeanevere gave the beast the purest look of disdain that she could muster before the door to the adjoining room jostled open and her husband came rushing in. In his hand was a fully loaded rifle. He looked ready to kill._

" _Step away from our child!" bellowed Alan as he stepped forward to hoard off the creature before it got too close to their daughter._

 _The beast looked at him distantly before turning his head back to the sleeping baby. "I do not think I will." It told him. "She smells divine. I am curious how she will taste."_

" _Get away from her!"_

 _A loud bang sounded on their chamber door. Calls erupted from behind the seemingly locked escape. Alan looked to the door with a look of discernible concern. If he had done something to it, then there was no way that he could save his daughter and wife and find a way out of the room. There was the option of jumping from the window, but the risk of someone getting injured, or Lord forbid, dying from the height was far too high. The only thing he could do was wade off the beast for as long as he can so his wife and daughter could leave. It would be an honor to give his life to save theirs; he hoped that he could._

" _What is it that you want?" he asked instead._

 _He tilted his head and began to snicker. "Oh, how incredibly kind of you to ask!" He began to laugh wildly at his question._

 _Alan took a step forward._

" _Stay where you are," the beast said in a deathly low voice, the time for playing gone. "Take one step forward and I kill the babe. Then, I will take your wife. Your choice."_

 _He stopped where he was and gulped. Looking behind him, Alan could see the look of shock and terror on her face. Jeanevere looked to him pleadingly, her eyes brimming with tears. There was nothing that he could do at that moment that he could not promise her; though, he nodded at her reassuringly. They would save their daughter, but it would take some time. Hopefully, the creature he was dealing with of intelligence. Negotiation would become a dear friend._

 _Slowly, he looked back at the beast, becoming aware of the look that his wife gave him, having mistaken it for him being near her. He had moved and was now holding their daughter in his arms as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. He grinned at him._

" _You moved," he informed him._

" _You instructed me not to take another step."_

" _I changed my mind," he said in a whisper. "Now, you will leave me to take her. I do not want any funny business, either."_

" _Do not dare, you-"Jeanevere started but was quickly silenced._

 _A long claw produced from its grimly finger and was now pressing against their daughter's throat, the beast sporting the look of meaning. He was dead serious about harming their child; there was no bluff anymore._

 _Alan watched his wife shake where she stood, fall apart and retreat back behind him. They were to play his sick, twisted game no matter what sort of foul he committed. He made the rules, and he expected them to abide by them. He turned back around, cursing himself for looking at his wife. The beast had drawn their daughter more closely in his arms and moved. With his reflexes and agility, he was more than half way to the door, eyes glowing. The moon was growing in power in the middle of its phases; it was calling to him and he was listening._

" _It has been a pleasure meeting you, my Lord." He said, still grinning. "Madame," he growled, looking at Jeanevere like she was something to eat. Alan did not much care for the lustful way he was looking at his wife; he did not move._

 _The scent of burning wood began to circulate in the air. It alerted their deepest concern. Alan's eyes widened, almost daring to look around to see where the scent was coming from but was too preoccupied by the state of his daughter that he did not bother. The beast still stood in front of him. He feared that even in a blink of an eye they would be gone and he would never see his daughter again._

" _Ah, that will be the cue." he said quietly. "I must take my leave._

" _Where are you taking her?"_

" _Would you not like to know?" he said with a rapturous laughter. "It would do you well to know. Right, Master?"_

 _Something shifted from their vision, coming into the brilliance of the candles that were placed around the room._

" _You," Jeanevere hissed. "What are you doing here?"_

 _Cummings laughed as he walked to where they stood. A masterful smile laced his lips and there was a recognizable sting of triumph. He nodded at his lady before taking a look at the infant in his follower's arms._

" _Excellent, Greyback."_

 _The beast now had a name._

 _He grinned. "Master."_

" _How dare you!" bellowed Jeanevere, taking a step forward without a care that they could disappear. She was so terribly lost to her rage and distrust that she did not care if she broke the unspoken promise of not moving. A devastating sense fell over her as her world fell apart; she was lost to the ambitions of some greedy, evil little man that she did not notice that the room had ignited into a river of fire or that her husband was trying to calm her down._

" _Jeanevre, you must collect yourself!"_

" _He has taken our child!" she shouted back, her eyes turning the variation of manifested anger. They were red and brimming; she could not control the magic that she had neglected for so long._

 _Cummings looked on with amazement. "Brilliant," he seemed to whisper under his breath. "So, this is the spectrum of your wife's power?"_

" _What do you want with our daughter?" Alan asked, the wind whipping around him and becoming a roaring eruption of small debris and string of fire. "What is it that you want?"_

" _What I want?" Cummings asked, tapping his chin. "Would you not like to know? I have only been serving a more important presence for the last several months, Granger. He told me to do this, and in return, I get my prayers answered._

" _What man do you speak of?"_

" _Man?" the foreign fellow asked. "Not man. No." He shook his head. "You are so blind Granger that it bothers me. He is not a man, but a creature of absolute power. He has promised me riches beyond my wildest dreams if I were to kill you and your family. That was the deal until he made me aware of what lie within your daughter and the gift that your wife passed down to her._

" _You see, outwardly appearances can be the most deceiving. One must look deep within to find what lies below."_

" _What does that have to do with my daughter?"_

" _Master!" A voice called from the other side of the door. Everyone's heads shifted to the heated door as flames engulfed it in its hateful task of consumption. "Master, can you hear me?"_

 _Alan looked to the door but did not call out. He then turned his attention back to Cummings._

" _Everything," he murmured the single word like his life depended solely on it._

 _In that instant, Cummings pulled a dagger from his coat and threw it straight at him. He would have dodged the attack had it not been from some invisible force keeping him locked in position. There was a distant scream and the sound of shuffling as his rescuers tried desperately to stop the bleeding._

 _Alan feel to the floor with the look of complete shock and distrust ghosting over his face. His eyes reached to his once most trusted adviser, a light shining with question._

 _He been wrong. So entirely wrong not to heed his advisor's warning. As he sleep from the state of the living, the last thing that was brought to him was the faint memory of his wife's tearful cries and the words that he could barely evoke._

' _I am sorry, my love.'_

* * *

The entire house had gone up in a blaze of fire. Terrified screams filled the night air, all except one. He had seen the beast, watched it as it poke a gaping hole right through Alan's chest the moment he hit the ground and rip out the mother's throat and eat the flesh that he tore. He watched as Jeanevere collapsed to the floor and was raped and maim. The child, though a fragile and most precious little jewel had miraculously been saved when time was truly of the essence. They essentially bathed him in their spilt blood. As much as they fought, it seemed too inadequate to say that they had not given it their all. He had arrived just in time to win them over, but not to save their lives to which they gave willingly.

Someone had gotten the child, reflected whatever curse that had been hurtled his way. As soon as the curse that had been aimed for him bounced back and hit his attackers, he Disapparated out of sight, only to reappear on the hill just outside his master's home. Within minutes, the roof caved in and the windows were smashed inward. The home was completely unrecognizable. The only thing left to do was to inform the Head of the Aurors and report back. He looked down at their child. Lost to the sublime sleep, she had not witnessed a thing. His heart clenched and he bit his lip from calling out in a horrid scream.

Draco found himself on the outskirts of some land, the house but a small, extinguished blaze in the middle of the horizon. Several groups of Aurors, townsfolk- Muggle and Wizard alike stood in the abyss of the night, all contemplating what had just occurred. One by one, the Muggles began to retreat, their faces glazed over, a charm performed to send them all back home and back to safety.

"Secure the area and look for survivors." Called a man with a heavy Irish accent. "I want a report on my desk my tomorrow morning."

"Aye, but I-"

"I do not care what you think!" growled his superior officer. "That report better be done."

"Moody!" someone called out from the chaos. "I have something you might want to take a look at!"

In an instant, the bearing man wobbled his way over to one of his lower ranks civilians and came across something that he truly did not wish to see.

The Auror from earlier stood there with the child cradled in his arms, his expression sad. "She is the only survivor." He informed his captain. "I am afraid there are no others."

His captain looked down at the bundle and nodded, his one good eye shifting over the fabric that kept her warm and the other moving backward in its socket. Within seconds it righted itself. "I need to get the Head of the Department. He will know what to do with her."

"Where are they going to take her?"

Moody did not dare to answer right away. "They will be taking her to an orphanage after we check her vitals." Before his lower rank could protest, he bit out a growl. "That is all we can do at this time. I do not wish to see her go to some filthy orphanage any more than you do, but it is all we can offer."

Draco looked at the child one last time, a mixture of male judgement playing precariously inside his heart.

The moment he pulled back from her mind, he knew that what he had done was nothing more than cowardly. There was nothing heroic in what he had done. He had betrayed her, torn into her mind and forced her to relive the last night of her life all for his selfish need to know what she had bene through and what had eventually happened to her daughter.

The spirit looked at him with the urn of mortification. No one has ever dared to step over her boundary of trust; the last person who did had destroyed her family. And, now for what? Knowledge was a hideously vile thing. She was seething with rage.

She stepped back behind the Fae, her eyes glistening. "You know not what you have done." She said blankly and without conviction.

"I am sorry." He pleaded, taking a step forward.

The spirit shook her head. "No, not the memories. I care not for the memories as you care not for my respect or comfort. No, it is what you touched that troubles me."

"What do you mean?"

She looked up at him and whispered," You have no inkling? Why, how else are you supposed to protect her?"

"Protect her?"

She ignored his cluelessness and came right up to him, grasping his hands in hers. "It is your destiny." She told him, her eyes becoming a dull color. "What will you make of it?"

In that instant, she fell and he reached out to catch her.

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter needs to be edited badly. I had a reviewer (can't remember who) that pointed that out .. After this update, I'm going to go back and edit all my chapters. Hopefully they'll be done by Tuesday. School just started back up and work has been a bitch. I don't know which I hate more- work or school. Definitely school because of my classmates. Although it's our last semester, they still don't respect me. I've had it up to the fucking moon with them.

Anyway-

'Looks can be deceiving', if anything else.

What I really mean is that no one is how they seem, even Hermione. Even Belle, actually. She was so incredibly different and considered strange that it's refreshing and exciting to play on how someone looks and how much you know them and then what they do in return. One's outward appearance does not reflect how they feel or really think on the inside.

Harry will most likely be the hero, as he has been. Draco, unlike in the books and movies, will be a hero within his own right. There will be some hardships for him and Hermione; people will arise, and situations will ensue. Overall, you're looking at a very long ride and I do hope you are all okay with that :)

 **Important Note:** The events that take place in the original Beauty and the Beast will occur within the narrative and I do not own any content replicated in my work. I didn't want a word for word replica of the movie, so do not bash what my mind has come up with. I have every right to play on what I want. So, nugh! :"P

-Carolare Scarletus


	11. Chapter 10

_.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter Ten_

 _.~._

* * *

Rain fell from the angry clouds. Thunder streaked across the sky in cynical brushes. As they fought against the raging storm, Lady Malfoy's heart fell through her clavicle and straight into her stomach. She could hardly register anything but the icy pelts of rain as it struck her skin and cascaded down her face. The prickling sensation was almost lost to her. By the time they reached the back doors of the orphanage, the entire building was casted in a dark shadow. They ran across the fields, past the single horse drawn carriage and through the small garden. Their clothes were drenched with water, their hearts racing as they tried to catch their breaths. Maxime was the worst off. Ms. Cole and Lady Malfoy were no better. The rain seemed to have washed away her glamour. It had been too restraining, and as the day dwindled to nothing but a thin line and night fell, she was truly concern by what the rested day has brought them. They were listening for any signs out of the ordinary. When a scream issued from one of the levels, they burst through the doors and into the kitchens, the boy leading them as they ran through the halls and clamored up the stairs.

None of them wanted to speak in fear that what they said would bring upon the wrong decree. Instead, they sat there. Hearts hammering, adrenaline filling their veins. It was the worst sort of excitement they have ever felt. And the worst sort of dread they could have ever imagined. Whilst water cascade down their sore bodies, they arrived at the scene of all the disorder.

"Mistress!" a small voice called out.

Ms. Cole turned to find a young girl waving at her, a worried expression upon her youthful face.

"What is it, my dear?" she asked urgently. "Who is inside this room?" Forgetting all logic, she asked a question that she already knew that answer to. She could blame it on pure horror.

"It is Hermione, Mistress!" she began to cry. "Some strange boy was walking around earlier and must have come in to harm her."

"I doubt that he had any intentions to harm her, Millie." The older woman told her. Maxime gave her an odd look. "The boy seemed perfectly normal to me. Now tell me, what has happened?"

"We watched him for a while," the little girl admitted bashfully and with a blush. "We wanted to know what he was doing here and if he was going to harm us."

Millie began to tell her all she knew about the incident. Though, she believed that the boy thought they were alone and entombed in the Drawing Room, some of the children had come back and watched them as they talked. There had been blinding lights of gossamer, and a strange little sound that tickled their ears whenever they tried to get closer. All in all, it was a very strange interaction. Their introduction was appropriately suitable until their conversation turned dark. Hermione changed and so did the boy.

"What did he change into?" asked the Mistress. "Millie, you must tell me."

"I-I do not know."

"Millie."

"A m-monster," she murmured in a frightened voice and that was all she would say about the matter.

A sobbed tore from the little girl. She found herself being embraced by the elder woman. As she cried, Ms. Cole cooed soothing words into her ear,

Ms. Cole grew quite frustrated. As she straightened herself up, she turned to Narcissa and gave her an accusing glare.

"Your son has harmed one of my own." She told her gravely. "What is your son? I demand you tell me."

Narcissa came forward, swallowing hard. Fear was predominating in her eyes. She had not been expecting none of this to happen.

"He is cursed," she recited slowly. "His Beast has risen."

It was pure instinct.

She was very much like a falling angel. Casted down from Heaven, she was falling to Hell with incredible speed. The only thing that saved her from it was his outstretched arms. Seeing her fall like that her doom was unbearable. He opened his arms and he caught her, demanding that the madness inside him remain calm.

He had not hurt her.

Something else had.

Draco brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and watched her as she recovered from her tragic nightmare. He was reminded fearfully of her episode. She looked so peaceful, so elegant that he did not dare disturb her. Although she was not fully awake, he felt that the simple fact that she was responding and breathing normally again was a sure sign that everything was going to be alright. He let the fear of losing her leave and be replaced with something more profoundly accepting that he hardly noticed the charging fleets of Fae as their shouts across the room.

Without breaking his gaze, he sent the creatures flying, their bodies spiraling in midair. The zone creaked with renewed life, ready to be tore even further apart. Draco was ready for them. Their demise would not mean a thing to him, so long as they did not harm her.

They sat in the middle of their own war-inspired ruin.

He listened, and to some relief the Fae trickled out of sight. Though, they would remain close, he grew certain that they would not attempt anything else. And, they did not.

It was like listening to the end of a horrible storm. The crackling of wood as it fell from the frames of the furniture, the crunch of glass as it moved anonymously across the wounded floor. As they sat in the offered silence, objects continued to move on their own accord, still connected to the travesties that had once gave them life. The fact that the room could sustain such a monstrous exploration was astounding. No achievement before has ever made such a bold statement. She had episodes in the room before, and someone came to clean up her mess. It was more than a sanctuary for the literary elite; it was her haven and home.

His heart thrummed.

That was a thought that he could not bear. The girl had no home, no protection. His Beast growled in utter disgust. His father was just a signature away from destroying the only place that she has been able to call home. Not without a fight, however. If she could not keep this place, then he would have to take her with him.

Draco looked down at her, shifting his gaze from one element of her face to another. She moved slightly in her sleep but remained unresponsive after that. An interaction such as this one is said to only come once in a thousand years, and he was surely stunned that he could encounter such a driven spirit.

Everything was thrown in chaos.

His hand came up to smooth contour of her cheek, which took his breath away the instant his rough skin met with hers. He let out a shaky breath as his hand moved downward, to her neck and over her clavicle. There, he felt her heartbeat. His beast wanted to scrap his teeth against her chest just to know that there was life in this dangerous vessel. That the life within was his to claim. It was immoral to think such a thought. Its sharp creation was wholly undeterred. He stopped a felt the beating of her heart, letting out a satisfied growl at the feeling.

He did not give a damn of the hell that he provoked. His hands trembled as the noise began to stir the girl in his arm in all the wrong ways. She was fighting something again. This time, he could help her. Bringing his arms around her shoulders, Draco moved in so that he cradled her protectively in his embrace.

No one was going to get to her.

First, it was a hoard of children who discovered them. Their startled gasps and cries were drowned by the fact that he had not much patience to care what they thought or what they were saying. As he stood, cradling the girl in his arms, he felt their tiny bodies shiver beneath his mighty presence. He dared not turn lest he frighten them even more. Instead, he picked up his beauty and walked them to a nearby, unbroken chair and sat down and waited. Drawing his arm up, he studied the girl's face in earnest. He did not want to forget a single detail. The beast inside him would not allowed it, anyway.

"Go fetch your Mistress," he told them calmly. "It seems that this child has gotten herself into more trouble than it is worth. I must speak to her at once. Now, go."

One by one, he heard them leave the room. Only one dared to stand there and wait until he acknowledged her presence.

"What is it, girl?"

Draco turned to find a small blonde-haired girl standing just inside the frame of the room. Her hands were drawn to her sides, her eyes round with worry. Evidently, she wanted to ask about her friend. It was clear that the two of them were close.

"If it is her that you are worried about, then do not be." He told her softly. Again, his hand went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "She is fine. Your worry is but a manifestation of-"

"Did you harm her?" she asked suddenly, having taken a step inside the room. She was still far away, but at least she had the nerve to approach him unlike her friends. "Why is she so white?"

"She is not well." He bit out stubbornly. "I may have aroused something I ought to have left alone."

"You mean her magic."

Draco's eyes shot open and flashed a mean glow of amber. "What?"

The little girl swallowed and said," She has magic."

"Who told you this?" he hissed lowly, knowing that a girl like her should not know what the word meant. "Did you overhear one of-"

She shook her head. "No. I did not." slowly, she approached them and looked down at Hermione with fondness. "She is my friend. She is special."

"And what precisely is your definition of special, girl?" he was caught in a web of wanting to dispose of her and wring out the truth from every bone in her body. "Tell me."

The girl smiled. "Special, you know, different." She giggled. "She is just her!"

She could mean anything by her words. Her aloofness was astounding.

"I do not know what it is, really." She continued to tell him. "All I know is that it is nothing to be afraid of. It is a part of her. Like what you have is a part of you."

"And, what is it that is a part of me?"

"Your eyes. They say it all."

The girl then turned around without a word and slowly, as if having no clue that she had been in the middle of a conversation with him, began retreating to the entry of the room. There, she turned and let out a horrified scream. If he had not been paying close attention to her, the alert that she sounded would have come as a complete surprise. Just as quick as she had come to him, she betrayed him.

Seconds later he was met with silence.

Then the door burst open again, and he prepared to leave. He listened carefully to the conversation emanating from just down the hall.

He felt them arrive blazingly. Their shouts, and their discursive threats heavy as he looked to find a trove of visitors awaiting him. In that moment, the door burst open again, and his mother stepped in through the threshold and into the insanity that was his mind and heart. Her disheveled state was quite unearthly. Her hair was thrown by the wind and displaced, as were her petticoat and skirts. The only remanence of coordination came from her frantically looking around the room, her eyes locking onto his form. He had never seen her in such dismiss, and looking at her now caused his heart to pound even louder inside his chest. He felt two heartbeats now.

They had found him in the end of a long-fought battle. The only remnants of the episode laid in the destruction of the room. He heard one of them gasp and let out a startled cry. Books lay deserted in all corners of the room; the glass had been shattered and furniture rearranged and broken. The only thing that had been saved from such force was himself and the girl, whom he had taken and shielded. The Fae had been too terrified to stay and vanished. They were truly alone and unaccustomed to their gawks of enquiry.

He turned and came face to face with his father.

Lucius was a despicable man. Everything he has ever touched either turned to ash, or was set alight with hatred. He was the very reason behind his curse. Every fibre of his wretched being despised him. The two of them stared at one another until voice sounded behind him. They were met fruitfully by the Mistress' agitation, and his wife fatal cries.

"Oh, dearest Draco!" she exclaimed heartedly. "What has become of you?" she asked in a defeated voice as she took in the room.

The wreckage wreaked havoc on her fragile heart. Her eyes grew wide in astonishment, eyes shining with glorious dismay. He watched as the revulsion that laid embedded like a sweet breeze rose to the surface and mar her perfect complexion. Her features grew grim, her eyes wide. She saw the streaks of gold intertwine with opaquely driven blue of his eyes. His hidden secret had risen, and there was nothing that she could have done to stop it.

As her eyes became acquainted with the destruction, Ms. Cole filtered into the room, taking the devastation just as fiercely as her Lady.

"Draco," she cried then. "What has come of you?"

"Nothing has come of me, mother." Draco said just as she looked to see who was in his arms.

"W-what have you done?" she asked in dismay. "All this wreckage! And, the girl. What have you done to the girl?" She stepped forward and as she did, he let out a low growl that came forth from deep within his chest. With a gasp, she stepped back and stood her ground.

The action tore through the haze, allowing him to answer. " _Do not come near her!_ "

"C-come near?" His mother tore her gaze from him and looked at the decapitated girl in his arms. "Did you do this to her?" When he did not answer, her voice became louder and sharper. "Answer me, Draco. _What have you done to her_?"

"Not I," he offered, standing now. His balance was kept as he swept the sleeping girl into his arms and stood there, gazing upon her beauty as if any second it could be lost. Draco looked down at her face, her curly hair, the unbroken promise between him and the spirit that had possessed her.

Oh, yes. _He_ has chosen her.

"I have claimed her."

He moved toward the entrance, throwing his mother a sorrowful glance. If she only knew. "Make the preparations. I am taking her to heal and I am not leaving her unless she is my ward."

"Your ward?" question his mother, outraged by such a declaration. "Stop this instant, Draco! I will not tolerate such a-"

The word caught in his throat and by the time she opened her eyes from blinking, her son was standing a foot from her, eyes blazing, a snarl etched upon his face.

"A what?" he asked then, darkly. "Finish your sentence, mother. I dare you."

Draco turned, knowing full well in the back of his mind that his mother was worried. As he was. The curse in which had been given to him unjustly was slowly settling in. Though, it would be years before the premonition of his unfortunate end would take root, he still had time to rectify the wrong that his parents had done. No child should have to suffer at the hands of some unknown assailant, so why should he turn a blind eye to the girl?

"I will do as I wish, Mother." he said through gritted teeth. His Beast was fighting to rise.

A grave coldness came over them. Lord Lucius had entered the room, having placed a hand upon his son's shoulder to calm him down. It was a trivial statement, one that he hoped would take. It did not, however it did provide some much need assurance for the boy with the unsustainable compulsion. In that instant, his Beast retreated into its lair and the boy felt at peace once more.

"Father," he said warily, coming back rather quickly whilst looking up. He looked about the room in remembrance to what happened. As the pieces fell together, he looked down at the girl in his arms, feeling a pang of guilt. Had he been the one to harm her? Something told him no despite having very limited bursts where he could not recall what transpired.

"You know not what you are doing."

"Then, you do?" he asked in the same resentful way as his father had spoken. "I know what you think of me, father. I am a beast, a monster. The only reliable source of any redemption has been found through the loss of keeping me away from others, being casted and locked away. I only hope that you can see why I must do this."

"Why you should take this girl from the only home she has ever known?" he hissed venomously. "What you are doing is unethical."

"Unethical." He tried the word as if it were a savory dish. Draco stopped walked, and turned. His eyes were glowing. "What is unethical is what you have been doing to this orphanage, father. Have you no heart? Have you no soul? As power-hungry as you are, surely one little building could be spared."

"You know not what you are doing!"

"I know more than you will ever know, father." The boy spat and walked away.

Lord Malfoy came up to him with the gravest of expressions. "My son. What has come of you?"

He was very much aware of the fleeting touch of his hands as his Beast tethered on the brink of rising. The enchantments that kept it cages was being placed under so much strain that he feared that the bars would break and they would all pay witness to the true nature of his unfortunate gift. Lord Malfoy would soon die then have his son suffer another decapitating episode; he could not bear to see him in a wrong mind and endearing so much pain.

Draco began to writhe in pain, and looked imploringly up at his father.

"Make it stop," he begged.

"I wish I could, my son." He swallowed thickly. His words were minced with sorrow.

He knew somewhere deep and dank a flower had lost its petal. And, there was nothing he could have done to stop it.

In a dark, far away throne room where no light penetrated its rough curtains sat an expensive glass encasement. Inside, a single rose in full bloom, dressed in red and suspended in time, fluttered at slightest of touched. The thick, heavy cage was meant to protect the fragile blossom, but nothing could prevent the ruin of age from tearing one precious petal from its body and tossing it to make a blanket of decay. For many years, month by month, the flower has lost one petal through arrogance, reminding the owner that life was not fair and one ought to be ashamed by thinking that even someone as willowed as a wanderer was not deserving of kind treatment.

The rose that had been preserved with thousands of enchantments, drawn to countless rituals and requests, was dying. There was nothing on earth that could do a damn thing about it. As it died, the spirit attached to it was slowly drawing the life out of another.

Deception was a cruel thing, some would come to learn.

Lord Lucius looked at his son with sympathy as he thrashed about. A silent _Wingardium Leviosa_ was casted on the unconscious girl. He needed to get her as far away from his as possible. If she was the one, he need not just ensure her safety, but his son's as well.

"Let her go!" he roared, eyes glittering with anger. "Let. Her. _GO!_ "

"I am afraid I cannot do that, my son." Lucius told him, looking back at his wife as Ms. Cole and the children shrieked in terror. "And, if my son is still in there, I implore you to remain calm. I will not harm her."

" _Let her go!_ "

"Forgive me, please."

Draco's eyes widened.

A hot-ironed pain coursed through him. His father had struck him against the head, causing him to lose balance and stumble to the floor, crashing like a giant tower. The echo of his landing was deafening. As his father's magic came to force him into submission, his body seized up, and finally his eyes closed and his beast was once again locked up.

"I need medical assistant." He murmured, eyes wide in the aftermath of what he had done. "Now!"

The children's Mistress came between them before he could ask what happened. Children were beginning to arrive at the Drawing room. "Go fetch Mr. Filch. I will need Poppy as well."

Those who had dared to show up made themselves scarce upon their Mistress' words. It was not a simple demand, it was a command. They knew better not to go against her wishes.

Soon, the Master of the Orphanage arrived along with their nurse on call. The room was swarmed with several individuals that escaped the family's notice, although their main concern was for both children.

Hermione was taken away in a blaze of white. As reluctant as she had been, Ms. Cole accepted it had remained moderately by her side throughout the duration of her recovery. Night had fallen, and she was walking aimlessly around the dark corridors with the only source of light coming from the tip of Lucius wand, and the direction of his voice.

By the time Ms. Cole was able to calm her down, Narcissa's nerves were shocked and her eyes were red from all the tears that she shed. She did not know what to make of her son. After all this time, his sudden interest in something he ought to leave alone was crashing down upon her like the worst kind of weight. The only uplifting thing that she could hold onto was her husband, whom had awoken from his senses and was now stroking the back of her hand in an effort to calm her. Their host was busy with arranging tea and making sure that the orphans were attended to. With a transient look out the window, Narcissa could not believe the events that led up to such a startling conclusion.

"Do forgive me," Ms. Cole said the moment she arrived back. She was wiping her hands on her apron, caring not that her hair was a mess or her spectacles were askew. She was in just a deplorable state as she was! "The children were quite frightened by your son's outburst. I am sure Hermione's contribution was no better. However, they are used to see her… crumble and break apart. Not much can be said about the young Lord."

"H-he is unwell."

"Yes, quite." The Mistress agreed halfheartedly. "It seems that this whole fiasco has come to a bit of a surprise to you despite how prone your son is to such outbursts."

"He is usually in control of his... _urges_." Lady Malfoy stammered uncontrollably. It was like fighting a dreadful cold. "Madam Cole, I must implore you not to speak to anyone about this matter. Not because it would ruin our image, but it would ruin our son. We cannot put him through that pain. He is but a child."

Ms. Cole looked at her and said," The young Lord's secret is well kept. I assure you that I will not speak about this to anyone."

A swirl of smoke came between them, and an oath was made. The older woman did not seem to question it. Nor did Narcissa.

"There is another matter to attend to, I assume."

The terrified woman nodded. "Yes."

"Zis es madness!" cried Madam Maxim.

Both women had nearly forgotten her presence, despite her towering form. During the episode, she had gathered reinforcement and called upon the Ministry of Magic. Filing a complaint and having to obliviate a house filled with children came to an overwhelming end to an equally heavy day. Maxime was quite unlike herself.

Ms. Cole pursed her lips. "As I very well know, Madam Maxime, you are not happy about the arrangements."

"I 'ave told you that I would take care of the girl!"

"T-the girl?"

The Mistress glanced at the distraught woman and sighed. "Maxime came to me some time ago. She had requested that she take up Hermione after I-I mailed her about her unique abilities. I had nowhere else to turn to, and she was willing to come and speak to her when the time was right."

Lady Malfoy looked at the tall woman and something significant clicked in her mind. "You are the Headmistress of Beauxbaton. They are one of the finest Wizarding Schools in Paris."

To that, she smiled.

"I am honored zat ze magnificent Lady Malfoy recognizes my dear school. Unfortunately, I did not 'ave ze pleasure to teach you, my Lady."

To this, Narcissa dipped her head in gracious ceremony.

"Hermione," Madam Cole began carefully after their heartful union," I am worried about her. I presume you know why I have contacted Madame Maxime? It is in hopes that I can procure her a better future."

Narcissa gave the other woman a look before nodding again.

Maxime had remained quiet throughout the conversation, but it looked as if it was her time to speak. The tall woman stood, smoothing down her dress and walked over to where they stood. A large window was their only audience. It showed what their hearts could not.

"It is within my jurisdiction to ensure that my students have the best education that they possibly can have. After today's events, I cannot say that I am able to sustain the girl the way she needs to be sustained."

"What are you trying to ask?"

"I am asking that, imploring you, really, that you reconsider taking the child." Ms. Cole looked sternly at her Lady. "This is the only place that they have. Hermione and the younger children, as you know, have grown up here. Some have travelled far just to find shelter here."

"You know that is not under my jurisdiction, my dear woman." Narcissa said imploringly. "My husband is the one who handles our affairs."

"Perhaps it is time to change that, yes?"

Narcissa looked beside herself.

To ask such a thing would be certain treason.

All the while, Lord Lucius had taken it upon himself to remain silent. An ever-important observer, he had final say on what would do with the girl and his son.

In the end, he knew that he chose wisely.

* * *

"What do you mean we cannot see her?" asked Millie, a little agitated. "If she is ill, we have every right to see her!"

"You must not come close to her," Madam Pomfrey huffed. She was clearly annoyed by their constant whining. "I shall call you in when she awakens. Now, off you go. There are chores to be done and lessons to take."

The children grumbled as one by one exited the room, all accusing her of being a right witch and that they would be safe from whatever had ailed their friend. Everyone left except for Elizabeth, who, once she had learned what happened to her, immediately took it upon herself to try to nurse her back to health. To no avail, that is. Madam Pomfrey did not take special liberties to anyone, including her closest friend.

"I am afraid I cannot let you stay, Elizabeth." The head nurse said with a sigh. "It is the Mistress' will that no one stays with her."

"But, I want to help!"

"I know you do, love." cooed the old woman. "Unfortunately, I cannot allow it."

"If it is the plague afflicting her, I do not care!" the little girl cried. "I want to be there when she awakens."

"Elizabeth-"

"If it is Harold's doing, then he did not mean it!" the distraught girl cried, trying to adhere to her better sensibilities. "He did not mean it!"

"Enough, Elizabeth." Ms. Cole's cruel voice shattered her resolve.

They both turned to find her standing at the door to the small room. The enclosure had been set up several years ago as a small doctor's office. Madam Pomfrey had not changed since she dedicated her time to the orphanage, and Ms. Cole would forever be in her debt.

"I will not have you rousing the ailing," she told her sharply. "Besides, you are missing your lessons."

"I do not care for my lessons," murmured the girl as she looked between the bed where her friend lay helpless and their Mistress. "I want to see her waken."

"And, you will." Ms. Cole seemed very adamant about the prospects. "As for now, she needs rest."

Elizabeth began to chew on her lips in earnest. "You are you certain?"

"Of course, my child."

"You will call me the moment she awakens?" she asked, then.

"You have my word."

Between a moment's hesitation, Elizabeth smiled. Giving the sleeping girl one last gesture of longing, she turned and ran out of the room. A sigh of relief prevailed as it encompassed the two women.

"See to it that no one else comes to disturb her." Ms. Cole walked toward the bed that Hermione lay in, checking that she was well. "She has been traumatized enough and I do not wish for the younger children to come near her until she is well again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Excellent."

"What shall I do about the tremors?"

The Mistress raised an eyebrow, knowing full well to what she was referring to.

Ever since the incident, the young girl had been plagued with uncontrollable tremors that looked as if nothing could cure. Though sedated, Hermione's body and mind had been completely disturbed and the Mistress feared that even on bed rest, it would not be sufficient enough to heal her. She knew not what to do.

"Watch her," she said softly. "Call me as soon as she-"

A loud, piercing scream alerted their attention.

Hermione began to trash about in her bed, her head whipping around as she tried to throw whatever was attacking her off her fragile body. With each disheartening scream, the two women grew more and more anxious and desperate. Madam Pomfrey did her best to restrain the girl, and it was only then when the door opened and a figure stepped into the room that she stopped moving, her breath coming out in large, unregulated gasps. Her eyes fluttered over the tight skin of her eyelids, before they shot open and welcomed the light.

"Madam Cole," Lord Lucius greeted the Mistress, and nodded curtly at the caretaker "I came to speak with the girl."

"Forgive me, but can you not see that she is unwell?"

"I do believe my eyes are not going yet," the Lord said with a sly smirk before it disappeared entirely. "But, I believe that I requested that I speak to the girl before my departure. Now, leave us be."

There was a discernable discretion between the two women, but their actions spoke louder than their words. As they made their way toward the door, Madam Cole sent the young girl a fleeting look before vanishing behind the threshold. The door softly clicked behind her.

Lord Lucius had watched the interaction, and by the time he looked back toward where she lay, Hermione had sat up and was looking at him with pleasant inquiry. He smiled at her, coming to a soft halt at the foot of her bed.

"Young Lady," he said, not knowing the identity of her name. "I have come to reason with you."

When she did not speak, he took it upon himself to elaborate.

"It seems that your encounter with my son, Lord Draco, has become more interesting that I initially anticipated. What escalated between the two of you has become news of this small town. But, I assure you that you are not in trouble, even if the consequences are dire."

"Dire, sir?" she asked, her voice cracking quite a bit. Her eyes went wide for a moment.

"Yes, dire." He surmised to instill. "With that said, I wish to give you something as a token of my gratitude." The Lord began to pull something out from his pocket, and was just about to present it to her when she said something that made him stopped in mid-action.

"I do not think that is appropriate, sir." Hermione gathered the blanket draped over her body and looked at him. "I did not do a thing."

He frowned. "You silly girl, what on earth are you going on about? Of course, you did something. As insignificant as you think it is, you have done something extraordinary to say the least."

"W-what do you mean?" she whispered, vulnerable.

"I mean, I wish to gift you something for the time being." He procured the item he wished to give her. When he did, her eyes lit up and she stammered for words.

The heart shaped glass held a tiny little figure that even Hermione could not surpass the gasps that fell from her lips. As the stunning visual came into light, she became shocked at the sight of it.

In his hands was a priceless antique, one that he wished that the young lady would not take great offense to. He did take great consideration when making the gift.

Engrossed by the idea, he presented it to her nonetheless.

"Until the day comes when you shall be reunited with him again, you hold his heart on your breast."

Hermione looked at him, not knowing what to do with it as he lay in in her outstretched hand, an action she had been too blind to see. As the weight of the necklace became acquainted with her, magic rose around her and settled like a flurry of wind upon hers.

-End of Part One-

* * *

 **A/N:** After countless months, I've finally come around to finishing and editing this chapter. And, it couldn't have come at a better time.

I'm thinking about just making these ten or so chapters into the Prologue, and then going with the actual story that is Beauty and the Beast. I'm not entirely sure yet. I still have to go back and edit the rest of the chapters (I've only been able to edit chapter 1 T.T)

On a lighter note: Have y'all SEEN Beauty and the Beast? :)

Editing this was extremely hard. For one, my left eye kept twitching and being the self-diagnosing woman that I am, I came to discover that it can be the result of too much sleep, not enough of sleep, stress and other health related ailments. Hmm, I wonder which one! I'm definitely at a point where I am able to get enough of sleep, and perhaps too much of it if you ask me. Sooo~~ cD I'll let y'all decide!

I had also planned on revising _In the Garden,_ giving it a much well-deserved facelift. I still intend to do so!

Anyway, Happy Mother's Day!

See y'all very soon :)

-CS


	12. NOTE

I just wanted those who were following this that the actual work for Beauty is Beast is up. Read and review for me? Thanks :)

-Carolare Scarletus


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